


What It Means to Be

by Faster_Than_the_Speed_of_Sound



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Abused Dean Winchester, Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Angel Wings, Angels, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), BAMF Dean Winchester, Crying Dean Winchester, Dehydration, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Good Person Lucifer (Supernatural), Human Experimentation, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, I'm Sorry Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Nephilim, No Sex, Psychological Torture, Scared Dean Winchester, Slavery, Starvation, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Torture, Touch-Starved Dean Winchester, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:08:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 35,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22179073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faster_Than_the_Speed_of_Sound/pseuds/Faster_Than_the_Speed_of_Sound
Summary: Castiel Novak is a powerful angel general, fighting with his family to take down dangerous war criminal Azazel and his brothers, Alastair and Asmodeus.On a routine raid, Castiel's life is saved by a young slave, one with striking green eyes and the number 005 burned into his skin.Castiel saves his life in return, but he is cautioned by his brother. This boy, whoever he is, is dangerous. There is something lying under the surface, something they may not be able to control. . .But Castiel just can't help himself. He has never obeyed orders well, and he pursues what his heart desires. As war rages around them and brother turns on brother, Castiel realizes that maybe there's more to being a mindless solider.And now? Now he thinks he wants to teach this green eyed slave something he has never known before: what it means to be loved.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 476
Kudos: 450





	1. Chapter 1

**One**

Today was a bad day.

Today, Dean wasn't fed or given water. Today, he was beaten for nothing, his captors releasing whatever pent-up anger they had on his body. Today, he was thrown into his dark cell, and that was where he found himself still hours later when he regained consciousness.

Immediate panic raced through him. Dean made to sit up, his broken body shouting in protest as he forced himself into a sitting position with the help of the walls.

He must have been very bad.

His captors really only put him in the Dark when he had misbehaved or fucked up badly. He was too valuable to really waste time on punishing, they said. They were often too busy running experiments or tests on him.

Sometimes, however, the tests and experiments were worse than the punishments the man inflicted on Dean. Sometimes he was starved or dehydrated until he couldn't take it anymore, until his body collapsed and the men in white coats came in, nodded, murmured, and took notes. Sometimes Dean was poked and prodded with needles taking samples of his blood, leaving him feeling weak and dizzy for days afterward. Sometimes they forced him to take drugs, causing his brain to dream up wild nightmares that had him screaming his voice raw and breaking his own bones with his struggling.

And sometimes. . . Sometimes Dean was strapped to the Table, where they did horrible things. Took off his skin and picked apart his hand, methodically broke bones to see how they healed, held a welding torch to his skin to see it bubble and split.

Those times, the hours on the Table, were always the worst. Even when they were splitting his back to the bone with a whip, angry and brutal, Dean was grateful that at least he wasn't on the Table.

Or in the Dark. Dean had a love-hate relationship with those. When he was in the Dark, he wished he were on the Table. When he was on the Table, he wished he was in the Dark.

The Dark was the opposite of the Table. While the Table was bright and blinding, filled with men in white coats, shiny metal tools, and blood, the Dark was. . . well, dark.

It was dead silent, for one thing. They left Dean in there for days, he thought. Long enough for him to be fainting of dehydration. It was silent and black, and in the darkness, Dean's demons came.

_I wasn't good enough, that's why they threw me in here._

_If I was dead, the pain would go away._

He couldn't shut out the pain, the echoes of his captors' shouting voices and the crack of the whip and the laughter of the men in white when he made a particularly interesting noise. 

Worse, still, were the memories of before.

Dean didn't remember before very well. He remembered it being warm, for one, something he hadn't been in a very long time. He remembered a younger brother named Sammy, and he remembered his father, John. John hadn't liked Dean very much, but he'd provided food and a house well enough. And of course, John wasn't _really_ Dean's father. Dean's father had disappeared long before he was born, leaving his pregnant mother alone. She had died giving birth to Dean, leaving Dean in the care of their family friend, John.

John's wife, Mary, had recently died, and his youngest son had needed someone to connect with. That person had become Dean, and Dean sometimes wondered if that was the only reason John had put up with him.

Sammy. . . Sammy had wanted to be a lawyer. Dean remembered that. He had been tall, too, with sparkling brown eyes and a killer smile. And he'd wanted to go to Stanford and be a lawyer. Yes, a lawyer. That was all Dean could remember. He wondered if Sam had ever accomplished that.

Dean had almost forgotten what it felt like to feel full and happy, not starving and afraid. He'd forgotten what it was like to talk to someone without flinching in fear. He couldn't remember what real clothes felt like either, because all he was permitted to wear were filthy pants that resembled boxers.

But he was fine. Dean was fine. Really.

He was fine, because if he _wasn't_ fine, he might just break. And even though he'd submitted, Dean had convinced himself that he hadn't broken yet.

But here, alone in the Dark, here Dean was afraid of breaking. Afraid of losing his mind to the inky black, darker than the deepest depths of the ocean. 

The only noise that Dean could hear was the clink and rattle of the single chain that bolted his neck to the wall.

He sniffled, curling in on himself, freezing cold and desperate for some form of comfort. His captors loved that, said they thought humans were hilarious with their ridiculous needs. As if the idea of needing physical contact and affection were trivial and ridiculous to them.

That was the other problem. They said human, as though they weren't.

And, Dean decided, most of them were not. Most of them looked like the demons John described tracking down back when he was a hunter. Some of them didn't look human at all.

Even worse were the ones that _did_ look human, but were most definitely not.

The three brothers, Azazel, Alastair, and Asmodeus, all had normal faces. Well, Azazel had bright yellow eyes, which sort of threw off the whole human-look. They radiated a sort of power to them, however, that told Dean and everyone around them that they were definitely not normal.

Out of the three, Dean hated Alastair the most. He oversaw Dean's punishments, decided when the human was to be thrown into the Dark, laughed the hardest when Dean screamed himself hoarse and made "funny little rasping sounds".

He was the one who featured in Dean's nightmares the most when he was locked in the Dark.

Today, however, it had been Azazel who had beaten Dean, while Alastair looked on with a sort of bored fascination. Azazel had been angry at something, eager to take it out on Dean. The last thing the human remembered was the man's yellow eyes boring into his as he kicked him unconscious. Then Dean had woken in the Dark.

_I wish I were on the Table, then at least there would be people and light and sound. I'm so alone, I'm going to suffocate, it's too cold, I'll die-_

Dean jerked, his body screaming in protest at the sudden motion.

He could hear footsteps pounding down the hallway. Alastair's footsteps were always quiet, slow, lethal. He took his time walking to Dean's door and opening it when he dragged the whimpering human out of the Dark. This person, whoever they were, was in a hurry.

The door slammed open and the cell was flooded with light. Dean whimpered quietly, covering his head to protect himself.

Asmodeus, with his awful sulfur smell, was bearing down on him. He grabbed Dean's arm and yanked him up, momentarily forgetting the human was attached to the wall. Dean made an awful choking noise as the chain jerked around his throat, threatening to crush his windpipe.

Cursing, Asmodeus grabbed the chain and unlocked it from Dean's iron collar. He then yanked the human forward.

"Make a single noise and I'll have Alastair strap you to the Table for a week," Asmodeus growled.

He yanked Dean forward, his movements uncoordinated, strange. If Dean hadn't known any better, he would have thought that the demon was. . . panicked.

Dean stumbled down the hallway, cramped, aching muscles struggling to keep up with the brutal pace Asmodeus had set. They raced down hallway after hallway, through large parts of the facility that Dean had never been in.

At some point, they stopped, Dean sagging, exhausted and weak, against the wall, head spinning sickeningly, blood pounding in his ears. There was a large room through a doorway to the left, where a large crowd of men in white coats ran around, all carrying papers or computers around. They all seemed panicked, and Dean momentarily forgot his fear as he watched, fascinated.

The men were running, some of them smacking into each other at top speed. It seemed they were struggling to hide the papers, struggling to get away.

Dean wondered what was going on. Asmodeus was watching the room with a sort of grim certainty.

"Here they come," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

Dean had a split second to wonder who was coming before the angels blew up the wall.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooooooo, everybody!
> 
> To all the people who have read my stories before, hi again! Nice to see you!
> 
> To all the people who are new, welcome! Nice to meet you!
> 
> I'm excited about this story. I had the idea coming off of a small case of writer's block, so I hope it's a good one. Some of the elements in here were recommended to me by Steelcode, which I GREATLY APPRECIATE! LOVE YOU!
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is kind of short, which I apologize for. They'll get longer. ;)
> 
> Enjoy!

**Two**

Castiel didn't really think they had to blow up the wall.

It was loud, unnecessary, and it made a big mess.

But Anubis had insisted, stating that the demons were already afraid of them and that if they made a big entrance, it would make surrender that much easier.

Privately, Castiel thought that the half-hellhound just liked to blow things up.

Despite everything, he still found himself crouched in front of his personal battalion of angels, back to the wall, waiting for Anubis's command and the inevitable explosion. The boy had at least sobered his excitement for this mission, understanding the gravity of it almost better than Castiel did.

He had escaped from here, after all. Azazel experimented on anything he thought he could use against the archangels of Heaven, and that included half-breed monsters. After six months of torture at the hands of Azazel's brother, Alastair, Anubis had broken free and come straight to Lucifer and Michael, claiming he would give them information about the inside of the operation if they offered him protection and never made him go back there again.

Castiel had seen how skinny and desperate he had been, how afraid. That had been the constant from all of the slaves and experiments that they managed to free from Azazel's grasp.

Tonight would be no exception. Their mission had been to break through the ring of facilities and undercover warehouses Azazel had been running. They were to try to capture Azazel and his two brothers, gather as much intelligence as possible, and escape with as many experiments and slaves as possible.

"Ready, boys?" Anubis called, his deep voice ringing out in the dark, rainy night. The windows of the warehouses and holding facilities had been blacked, but Castiel thought he could catch the faint sound of running feet within.

Many of the soldiers nodded. They looked determined, whether they understood the gravity of the mission, had personal connections, or just wanted some good action, Castiel realized he would never know.

Anubis's command rang out in the night. Castiel had seconds to cover his ears before the wall was exploding, destroyed with a brief flash of light and a rumble that shook their bones.

Castiel was up and charging before the last of the echoes faded, his battalion of soldiers following close behind.

They pushed into the facility, shoving past numerous scientists and panicked workers, who looked to be in the middle of trying to hide documents.

Castiel was met with a wall of security demons, armed to the teeth and glaring with angry red eyes. He lifted his angel blade and roared.

He and his two captains made quick work of the demons, glancing around after the fight. Where was everyone? The men in white coats seemed to be disappearing, slipping through the grasp of the angels once again.

Castiel smelled the gasoline a split second before he heard Anubis roar, his human shout laced with a snarl that seemed to reverberate from the deepest pits of Hell.

Light bloomed to the left as fire caught.

"They're trying to destroy the documents! Salvage the information!" Castiel heard an angel shout.

"Sir, Castiel!" someone shouted. Castiel whirled around and came face-to-face with a bloodied and panicked Anubis, his golden-blond hair splattered with crimson and black blood.

"What?" he bellowed over the roaring of the quickly-catching fire.

"The slaves, sir, they'll leave them! They're going to die!" Anubis shouted, his normally calm face stretched taut with panic.

Castiel's blood chilled.

He turned to his captain. "Take another battalion with you and split up. Get all of the slaves and experiments you can out of the building. We've been compromised," he ordered, his voice barely heard over the growing crackle of the fire.

"Yes, sir!" the angel shouted.

As he turned to start giving orders of his own, Castiel turned back to the young general, Lucifer's personal right-hand man.

  
"Come, we'll go ourselves," he said. "We can get them out."

Anubis nodded, looking relieved. Without waiting for Castiel, he sprinted off, his inky black armor melting into the flames. The angel saw which direction he was going and went the opposite, heading down a random hallway.

Smoke was thick in the air. Castiel pulled up his mask, the cloth covering the bottom part of his face. It was supposed to be for poisonous gas, but it worked for smoke too.

He sprinted down hallways, checking in each door he passed. It was growing hotter the deeper he went, and his angelic armor was starting to feel heavy and hot.

He skidded to a stop as he reached a four-way intersection, wondering where to go. He could hear shouts and crashes behind him, so he assumed they were still working. The intersection to the right was completely engulfed in flames, the one in front looked to be a dead end, and to the left-

The demon that came out of the hallway would have taken Castiel's head off if he hadn't ducked.

He lunged forward, tackling the demon to the ground. Sulfur punched through Castiel's mask and he wrinkled his nose, figuring out exactly who he was fighting before he even saw the face.

Asmodeus, Azazel's main intelligence officer and right-hand man.

He grinned at Castiel, his eyes darkening to demonic black, and shifted.

Castiel was thrown backward, slammed against the wall. He gasped as the breath was knocked from him, lashing out blindly with his knife. The tip caught something and Asmodeus roared.

Black blood splattered. Castiel forced himself to his feet, getting into a fighting stance. Asmodeus copied him, blood leaking from a gash in his right thigh. He circled with the angel, eyes glaring hatefully.

The demon lunged without warning. Castiel caught his blade and parried it away, ducking under the next attack and defending easily. He ducked and danced and fought, focusing his entire being on the demon before him.

Eventually, one of them slipped. Asmodeus blocked a blow and anticipated Castiel's fake before the angel even completed it, roaring in agony as the angel's blade hacked through his wrist.

The hand holding Asmodeus's blade flopped to the floor, spraying black blood with it.

Castiel stared at it for a split second, disbelief running its course.

In that second of hesitation, the demon tackled him, laying all his weight on Castiel's chest and pinning his arms to his sides. The angel roared, trying to shove him off, but Asmodeus just grinned crazily.

"Don't need both hands to kill you, angel," he slurred, his voice thick with pain. He produced another knife, wicked sharp and gleaming in the light of the fires that were slowly coming closer.

Castiel struggled some more, his helmet falling off and clattering to the floor with the force of his spasms.

Asmodeus simply grinned, raised the knife, and brought it down toward Castiel's heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot of Dean in there at all. Sorry. He'll come back in the next chapter. ;)
> 
> Also, Anubis is a character I designed purely because I didn't want to make anyone OOC (even if they already seem like that. It wasn't intentional, just my bad writing. Sorry.) and there were requirements for a character that I needed to be filled. I don't normally like when authors insert their own characters, namely because they're often females who I don't like and somehow manage to woo Dean or Sam-
> 
> DID I SAY THAT? I DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING. ANYWAY, I don't normally approve of OCs, but I guess I'm trying it myself. Call me a hypocrite. At least he's not a girl.
> 
> I'll stop talking now. See you later!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> Since the last chapter was a short one and this one is too, I decided to give you both. :)
> 
> This one is fun. No more cliffhangers. Maybe. . .
> 
> Enjoy!

**Three**

It was Asmodeus's roaring that snapped Dean out of his panic.

He'd been thrown to the side, curled into a tight ball of fear as Asmodeus went to check out whatever was following them. Dean had stayed put with the promise of a brutal beating hanging over his head if he moved an inch. He was sure he was in for it anyway, as the rage Azazel would feel at having been found out would equal that of any fuck-up Dean had ever had.

But when Asmodeus had started howling in pain, he had uncurled from his ball, a small part of him wondering if he really should try to escape. Maybe. . . maybe Asmodeus would die. Maybe Dean could be free.

And do what?

He was stuck here. He had no way out. It was only a matter of time before Alastair or Azazel appeared and took him away.

But still. . .

Dean got up slowly, his body weak and broken. The last beating he'd sustained had been brutal, and he still wasn't able to fully stretch his limbs. 

He limped forward once, wincing in pain as agony flashed up his entire body, traveling from his sliced-up feet to his pounding head.

He limped forward again, continuing until the grunts and shouts were louder. There were definitely two people.

Dean peeked around the corner and was surprised to see an angel fighting the demon.

He was gorgeous, his elegant armor flashing like a dying star in the flickering flames nearby. He fought with such power and grace, his movements sure and quick as a viper. Asmodeus was fighting like lightning too, a blade flashing between them.

Then there was a jerk, a scream, and Asmodeus's hand was falling to the ground. Dean had seen enough mutilations of fellow 'experiments' to know that the demon had just had his hand cut off.

He watched as they both stared at it for a second. Then the demon tackled the angel to the ground.

There was a yelp, a crash.

The angel's helmet clattered to the floor.

Angry blue eyes, deep and endless like the aftershock of a sunset, glared up at Asmodeus. Sweaty dark-brown hair, tousled and damp, stuck to the angel's handsome face.

A jolt went through Dean.

He fell to his knees.

White flashed across his vision for a moment, whiting out all sounds and pain and feeling. Then Dean came back to his senses.

Before he even knew what he was doing, he had lurched to a standing position and stumbled across the floor. As Asmodeus raised his knife in the air, Dean jerked the other one out of the severed hand, stumbling the last few feet toward the demon.

As the knife fell, Dean plunged his own into the demon's back.

Asmodeus jerked, his knife jamming into the ground beside the angel's head. Black blood sprayed everywhere.

The demon made a soft choking noise, surprised and frozen.

Then he toppled over, off the angel's chest. Human and angel watched as the demon drew a rattling, wet breath, the knife shifting in his back.

His chest did not move again.

Dean's eyes shifted and caught with the angel's, the one with the eyes like the ocean at midnight. He quickly averted them, flinching into himself as he realized what he'd done.

_I killed Asmodeus. Oh my God, I'm going to die. They're going to kill me, they're going to skin me alive and kill me, I'm going to die, I'm going to die. I'm going to-_

"Castiel!"

A demon ran in, and Dean almost had a heart attack.

He was large, his armor an inky black like the darkness between the stars. His skin was golden tan and set off the icy blue of his eyes, which flickered red in the firelight.

"The place is about to implode. We gotta get out of here, sir!" he shouted. He took in Castiel on the ground, the dead demon beside him, and then looked up to Dean.

The human whimpered, his body immediately tensing and curling into a little ball.

Of course.

This angel, Castiel, was with the demons. The demons were going to torture him, they would mutilate him beyond all recognition, torment and slice and burn until he didn't have the voice to beg anymore. They would leave him in the Dark, starve him, beat him. He was going to die. They would kill him, after they'd had their fun. After they'd sliced him up until he didn't look human anymore.

He didn't realize he was hyperventilating until he felt the cold floor against his cheek and realized he had fallen over, his vision swaying sickeningly. He could make out the demon helping the angel up, hear their voices from far away, like they were underwater.

Dean's last image was of eyes the color of a thunderhead about to break. Then he was slipping off into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! It was short, I know. They'll get longer. I just have to get into the plot a little. ;)
> 
> Tell me what you thought! See you tomorrow!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okaaaaayyyy. . . So, this one is ALSO short, but again, they get longer. :)
> 
> The plot may seem a little slower than my normal, I understand, and I will try to get that fixed as soon as possible. There will be Destiel up the wazoo in later chapters, I promise.
> 
> Also, it snowed today, so if my school closes down, I'll have more time to write. ;)

**Four**

They had barely made it out of the building before it collapsed, the internal structure giving way to the crackling, hungry flames.

Castiel winced as he walked. His right wing was surely singed, the tips of the dark feathers smoldering lightly in the dark night. His body was beginning to feel all those times he'd been thrown around too.

But his attention wasn't on his injuries. It was on the small, frail, skeletal slave in his arms.

But as Castiel looked him over in the thick darkness, his eyes straining to see, he realized that this boy wasn't just a slave. He was an experiment, judging by the number 005 branded into the top of his left wrist. And Castiel knew exactly why he'd been one of Azazel's coveted 'experiments'.

It took his breath away.

Anubis had offered to carry the boy out of the building, but Castiel had practically growled at him, a surge of protectiveness flaring even in the hot glare of the mounting fires all around them. 

Now, in the cool darkness of the rocks outside of the mountain warehouse, Castiel glanced over at the young general. He was limping badly, and his handsome face was soot-streaked and burnt a crispy red. But there was a small, grim smile twisting his lips.

"We got them out, sir," he said as they neared where the rest of the troops had gathered under a makeshift tent, sorting through documents even as the fires of the warehouse still burned behind them. As they watched, several angels in fireproof armor and masks broke away from the group and charged back toward the burning warehouse. 

"Yes, we did. Well done, Anubis," Castiel said, his voice rough with smoke. "I can see why my brother favors you."

The angel thought that if it hadn't been for the burn, the young general would have been blushing. "Thank you, sir. Do you want the experiment to be checked up by the medics?"

For a moment, Castiel felt that protectiveness surge up again and he cursed himself for being ridiculous. What was _he_ going to do? His grace wouldn't work on a-

_No. Wait until Michael gets here. I'll talk to him, see if my senses are just skewed._

_Yes, I could just be delirious or something from the smoke. Because there's no way. . ._

Even as they headed toward the medic tent, Castiel felt a sinking in his stomach. His gut was always right. And he had a bad feeling about the boy in his arms.

_Number 005. That's all he is._

_That's all he is._

The medics checked Castiel out, dunked his wingtip in cold water, bandaged it, and sent him packing. They had other things to attend to, and he had survived the worst of the damage the fires could have done by putting up his mask so he didn't breathe in smoke.

Castiel wandered over to the table where Michael's chosen generals were standing, sorting through the documents. He was beginning to feel the ache of a hard-fought battle, but he ignored it as his eyes caught on what the papers actually said.

"Blueprints? For what?" he murmured.

"Well, sir, it looks like they're blueprints for weapons," the nearest angel, a general named Zachariah, said.

Castiel frowned, glancing them over. "Michael will want to see these."

"Yes, sir. I've already dispatched a messenger to tell him that we have things we need to discuss."

Castiel nodded approvingly at the general and turned back to the papers, frowning. Weapons, but for what? They were strange, not any he had seen before-

"Excuse me, sir, but the medics are asking to see you," a small, timid voice said. Castiel turned and found a little human girl standing beside him. Her eyes were averted and her face was pale, fear and awe radiating off of her.

These humans were really too much. Castiel remembered one of them fainting the first time they'd seen his wings.

"Thank you," Castiel murmured. He brushed past her as he headed back to the medic tent.

They had stretched the boy, 005, out on a table. Again, Castiel felt a surge of protectiveness go through him. He fought it down and looked to the head medic for an explanation.

"He's badly wounded," the medic said, glancing over the experiment. "Undernourished to the point of near-death, dangerously dehydrated, several broken bones, internal bleeding, outer injuries, smoke inhalation. . . Basically, he might not make it through the night."

Castiel frowned, his eyes drawn to the raised burn of 005 on the boy's wrist again. He didn't know why, but it irked him, made him want to find whoever had done it and slaughter them.

"And that's just-"

The other medic, a small girl, was cut off by a glare from the Head Healer. Castiel frowned at him and turned to the girl. "What was it you were going to say?"

"Well, sir, I was going to say that those are just the physical problems," she said softly.

Castiel sighed looking back down at the experiment. He wished they had found this boy first, before the demons had.

"Do your best. See to it that he survives the night. Michael will want to see him," he said. The medics glanced at each other. The Head Healer nodded.

"Of course, sir."

Castiel nodded tiredly at both of them. He was beginning to feel the effects of exhaustion, and he knew he had a full debrief to get through.

"I'll see you back at base for the debrief, sir," a voice said beside him, as if reading his mind. Castiel nodded at the young angel general, the name of which he had forgotten. 

Tiredly, he flew home. The debrief was long, but when it was finally over, he went to his room, stripped off his armor, took a short, hot shower, collapsed into his soft bed, and fell deeply asleep.

Castiel woke up with Michael glaring down at him.

"I thought only Gabriel did that," Castiel said tiredly. "Did you put a marker mustache on my face?"

"Get up," Michael growled.

Sighing, Castiel slung himself out of bed. He threw on a leather training jacket and followed his angry older brother out of his room. From the dark circles under his eyes, it looked as if Michael hadn't slept.

"You know what he is, right?" Michael's voice was terse and harsh.

"Yes," Castiel sighed.

"He's a danger. You _know_ how they're raised, Castiel. They think we're worse than demons," Michael growled. He was setting a fast pace, something that at least helped Castiel wake up a bit more.

"Yes," he said again.

"They're _powerful._ Even untrained, they can destroy whole _worlds-_ "

"-I _know,_ Michael. But I couldn't have just. . . left him," Castiel said, coming to a stop.

Michael stopped too, and in his brown eyes, Castiel saw that his older brother had very much known he could and, worse, had expected him to do so.

Sighing, Castiel looked at his feet. Michael's sharp black boots and his worn leather brown ones. "He's been tortured by demons. He won't want any affiliation with them, and if that's true, then the only other place to go is with the archangels."

"That isn't true and you know it, Castiel," Michael said. His voice was rough. Harsh. "If he becomes a threat, I won't hesitate to dispatch him. And I trust you will too. Right?"

Castiel sighed, looking at his shoes. It felt like a betrayal. Like if he said no, he'd be betraying his brother. But if he said yes, he'd be betraying 005, a frail, broken boy he had met for only a split second but had somehow managed to save his life and flip it upside-down at the same time.

But those emotions were ridiculous. They were unfounded. So he raised his eyes, looked into Michael's, and responded, "Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh.
> 
> Michael always flubs everything up. And I cannot tell you how many times I've almost typed 'Michale' and posted it. The number is frighteningly large.
> 
> ANYWAY, still hoping for more snow, less school, even if that means we'll be in school in like, July, which is late for us. Very late.
> 
> See you all soon!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everybody!
> 
> We didn't end up getting snow. :( I'm sad, because I like snow.
> 
> Anyway, we have another all-day tournament today (every damn Saturday), so the editing on the next chapter might be a little slower. Don't worry, I'll get it out to you soon!
> 
> Also, thank you to Steelcode for their incredibly ideas. They basically prompted this entire fic. And thank you to angels_rdvd64, Jenniy, and Why_do_you_want_to_know for their continued support. Love you!
> 
> Enjoy this chapter!

**Five**

The first sensation that returned was sound.

It came in ebbing tides, coming and going, sometimes mind-shatteringly loud, sometimes so quiet it could barely be heard. But the sound soon returned to normal, bringing soft clinks and whispered voices, the quiet rise and fall of hushed human activity.

Smell returned next. Cotton, cleaner, the warmth of human bodies and a faint scent that came and went, one that smelled of the forest and wind and wild places.

Touch returned at the same time as taste. Dean's mouth tasted awful, like he'd been gargling blood and sand. That was almost overridden, however, by the sensation of being wonderfully, unbelievably _warm._ Not hot, like in the fire. But warm. Comfortable. Safe. The first Dean had felt in a long time.

Sight came a few seconds, days, hours, years, after he regained his other senses. At first, he wasn't even aware of his body. Then he knew that his eyelids were closed, far too heavy to even hope to open.

But every time he woke, Dean tried to open his eyes, tried to take in the world around him.

Three days after the fire, though he didn't know that, Dean opened his eyes the first time.

It was brief, filled with painfully bright lights and disorientation. But Dean managed to open his eyes, if only for a split second, before his eyes slammed shut again, too heavy to keep open.

Soon Dean was engulfed in darkness again.

But when he woke again, too tired to open his eyes, he remembered. Remembered the clean, simple-looking room he had been in. The soft blankets that had been covering his body. And the angel at the end of his bed, piercing blue eyes staring straight into Dean's.

When he woke up for real, the angel was gone. Since there was no trace of him, Dean was sure he had dreamed him.

Still, when he woke, he wasn't quite sure he wasn't _still_ dreaming. Or that he hadn't died. This place looked pretty close to heaven.

That was, if it hadn't been for the demon sitting at the end of his bed.

Dean choked as his throat tightened, his mind slipping into survival mode as he recognized all the signs of a demon. The being was human in form, broad and packed with powerful muscle. Golden blond hair fell over icy blue eyes, the depths of which looked as if they belonged at the bottom of an arctic ocean. The young man was watching Dean with a sort of predatory stillness.

"Don't freak out. You'll hurt yourself."

It took Dean a second to realize that the deep voice was coming from the demon sitting at the foot of his bed. He stilled, staring wide-eyed at the demon in the form of a beautiful young man.

"Do you know where you are?"

The demon's voice was deep and strong. Dean swallowed against his dry throat and found he didn't have the strength to even shake his head. He settled for looking at the demon blankly.

The demon sighed, rubbing at his face tiredly. "You're in the Bunker. It's the main base for the angels."

Angels? Why was there a demon in the middle of an angel bunker? And by Bunker, did this demon really mean _the_ Bunker? The legendary fortress that the archangels of heaven defended? The one that housed the group planning on taking down Azazel once and for all?

_That_ Bunker?

Dean swallowed, wishing he could speak, wishing he could ask where, exactly, he was and why, exactly, he was here. The demon seemed to understand, however. He sighed, looking around at the small, neat hospital room.

"You're in a private infirmary. Lord Michael ordered it. You were recovered from the warehouse after saving General Castiel's life," the demon said. He eyed Dean shrewdly. "I was there."

The familiarity of the demon smacked Dean upside the head. He blinked, realizing that it was the same one he had seen before he'd passed out, the one he'd seen in the burning warehouse.

His inky black armor was gone, replaced by casual training clothes the color of the sky on a stormy day. He looked less intimidating, smaller.

Still, the aura of Hell surrounded this young man, making him an instant 'no' on Dean's trust list.

But what had he said before? Dean had saved General Castiel's life? Did that mean that the dark-haired, blue-eyed angel was named. . . Castiel?

The thought sent shivers down Dean's spine for some reason. He shut his eyes for a second, then opened them again. The demon's icy eyes were boring into his own.

"My name is Anubis. I would suggest falling asleep again before Lord Michael comes back. He's intent on interrogating you, and I can promise it won't be pleasant," the demon said. The words sent shivers of a different kind raking across Dean's spine.

Interrogation? Was he going to be tortured? Did they have a Table or a Dark of their own here? What would happen? Would the angels be better or worse than the demons at torturing?

Dean realized the demon, Anubis, was watching him. He cleared his throat, desperately trying to force the words out of his parched throat.

He could only manage two. "Why'm. . . here?"

Anubis's face softened the barest fraction of a degree. "You're here because you've been saved. You're okay, kid. No one's going to hurt you anymore. I'll make sure of it."

That promise, from someone Dean had barely met, was somehow enough to lull his body into a sense of safety. The pain his newly awakened injuries had brought forth slowly ebbed away.

With the demon watching over him, Dean fell asleep.

The next time Dean woke up, the demon was gone. In his place was an angel with shining white wings.

"Hello there."

The words were soft but not weak. Dean could feel the power, the steel, beneath them. He shivered and struggled not to make eye contact with this angel. He had a bad feeling that he could be very violent if he wanted to be.

"My name is Michael. I've been waiting for you to wake up for a while," the angel said.

_I suggest falling asleep before Lord Michael comes back. He's intent on interrogating you, and I can promise it won't be pleasant._

The demon's words came back to Dean in a rush and he shivered. He found he had the small amount of strength required to shift his head to the side, at least so that he was less likely to make contact with the angel's burning gaze. The burst of pain that came from his body when he moved did little to distract him from the fear now running rampant in his veins.

"I would like to ask you some questions," Michael said. He frowned at Dean, sitting forward. "What are you doing? Stop that."

Dean was hyperventilating, he realized. He was panicking, and there was no way to quell the terror that now seized hold of him and forced him up, out of the bed, and to the infirmary floor.

Michael shouted at him to stop, which only increased the little human's panic. Dean threw up as a surge of agony rocked his body, whatever water and fluid they'd been force-feeding him coming back up on the tile in front of him.

_Submit, submit, submit, submit, sub-_

Michael was shouting for someone, his booming, commanding voice rocking Dean to his core. The human sobbed, curling into a tight little ball, unaware of the wounds and stitches he ripped open as he did so.

_No, no, no, the demon said I was safe. He said no one would hurt me, why did I believe him, why did I-_

Dean was so sure that Alastair was going to appear then, that he was going to swoop in and drag him away to chain him to the Table-

But another angel burst through the doors instead.

It was the handsome dark-haired one, the one with eyes that were hued from the depths of a sapphire. He looked angry, enormous, magnificent black wings flaring around him as he charged into the room. The beauty and might of his strength took Dean's breath away.

Or it would have, if the human had had any breath. Only when blackness began to creep into his vision did the little human realize he'd been breathing way too fast for way too long.

He had just enough time to see the dark-winged angel tackle Michael. Then, with a quiet whimper of fear, he passed out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? Tell me if you ever think Anubis is getting annoying/overstepping his bounds/taking too much of the spotlight/anything. I have a serious fear of my OC becoming annoying in any way. I HATE that.
> 
> Anyway, wish me luck at my tournament. I love you all! See you soon!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone!
> 
> The great news is that there's snow on the ground and probably no school tomorrow. The bad news is. . . we'll probably be in school until July. Ick.
> 
> Anyway, I can write more. I was a little tentative with the plot, but I'm hoping it will pick up and start to smooth itself out. If it seems a little slow right now, you're right. ;) Don't worry, it will get faster.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Six**

"We need to talk."

Castiel resisted the urge to snort. _Obviously._

Gabriel, Lucifer, and Michael were facing him from the other end of the table in a nameless war room. Gabriel looked faintly amused, Lucifer looked concerned, and Michael looked downright furious, Castiel's hand prints already beginning to outline on his throat in purple bruises.

"He's a-"

"We _know_ what it is," Michael cut in, his words clipped and furious. "Don't _speak_ that word, Castiel. It's practically a sin."

"Nothing wrong with sin," Lucifer murmured, a small smile twisting his lips at Michael's angry growl.

"The point is, Cassie, no matter _what_ that thing in the bed is, you can't tackle the lead commander of this base and choke him until he wets his pants in front of everyone," Gabriel said, pulling a red sucker out of his pocket and beginning to unwrap it. "It just doesn't fit with the etiquette."

"You're damned right it doesn't!" Michael spluttered. Lucifer and Gabriel were both obviously trying not to laugh. The older archangel managed to pull it off, but Gabriel couldn't keep a chuckle from escaping his lips, earning him a glare from Michael.

On a normal basis, Castiel would have paid good money to see Michael wet his pants in front of the nurses. But he was still reeling from the hormonal rollercoaster he had just been sent on. He was tempted to slap himself across the face, just to get a sense for what was real and solid.

"Why was I affected?" Castiel asked, his voice rough and raspy. He cleared his throat, looking almost desperately at his three brothers.

"Maybe because you're-" Gabriel started.

"If you say 'not an archangel', I'll kill you," Castiel said quietly. Gabriel shut his mouth, raising his hands in a non-threatening gesture.

"I don't think it's that either," Lucifer murmured. He frowned. "Is it because you saw the human first?"

"It's not human," Michael growled.

"Call it that for now," Gabriel amended.

Michael's nostrils flared, but he didn't argue with the trickster. Instead, he took a deep breath and clenched and unclenched his hands, eyes finding Castiel's and holding them there.

"The _point_ is, it's _dangerous,_ and I _will not stand for_ you going absolutely _insane_ -"

"Look at me," Gabriel suddenly said, popping his lollipop out of his mouth with an obscene sound. He waved his arms around dramatically. "I'm _Michael._ I _emphasize_ my _words_ to make them seem more _important_."

"Gabriel, if you can't handle this with the maturity required, then please leave," Michael said primly.

"No, I don't _think_ I _want_ to," Gabriel said.

"You little-"

"He's right," Lucifer said quietly. Both brothers stopped, staring at the devil.

" _What_ did you just say?" Gabriel demanded.

Lucifer shrugged, glancing calmly at the awed stares his brothers were giving him. "Michael is right. This thing is dangerous. I have no doubt that Castiel would have killed Michael if he'd felt the need to."

"Cassie, you'd better listen," Gabriel warned. "The last time they agreed on something was when we were arguing about when World War I was going to start."

Castiel ignored Gabriel, staring at Lucifer for a moment longer. Finally, he looked away. "But. . . why me?"

"Well," Gabriel said. "The elders always said that the N-"

" _Don't say it_ ," Michael growled.

"-the elders always said that _they_ bonded with angels," Gabriel amended, glancing at the oldest angel. "And it wasn't always archangels."

"Is Castiel the father?"

"Michael, you know he's not. Cassie couldn't get laid if he tried, and he's _never_ done that," Lucifer cut in. Castiel was too strung-out to even be offended.

"Alright," Castiel said. "Alright. Just. . . what do we do?"

The brothers were silent.

Gabriel sucked loudly on his lollipop, glancing from Lucifer to Michael. When neither said anything, he sighed dramatically. " _I_ think we should explore."

"Explore what?" Michael demanded. Castiel wondered that too. Lucifer narrowed his eyes, thinking. The three stared at Gabriel.

The trickster, as if suddenly aware of all the attention, shrugged awkwardly. "Explore the connection."

"Connection?" Castiel demanded.

"Yeah. Obviously there's some sort of a connection here, otherwise Cassie wouldn't have gone all Angel-of-the-Lord on Michael," Gabriel said, spreading his hands.

"That's a ridiculous idea," Michael gritted out.

"It might work," Lucifer mused. "We know virtually nothing about them and why they do what they do. Maybe. . . maybe Cassie could convince it to be a good guy."

"I can't-Why do you think _I_ should do it?" Castiel demanded.

"Because," Gabriel said. "He saved your life."

"And if he ends up destroying all of us?"

"Then that will be our fault," Lucifer said. "Father always told us not to trust Nephilim."

All four winced at the word.

"We don't know for s-"

"Yes, we do, Michael. You. . . you've felt it. I know you have. There's no other feeling in the world," Castiel said.

The other angels nodded their heads in agreement.

Nephilim. They were powerful and unstable halflings, often raised to hate angels, based on the hate and prejudice they received in return. When sired by a particularly powerful angel, they could sometimes grow to be more powerful than an archangel.

"But-but-but they're _disgusting_. They're abominations! They go against everything the natural and supernatural world stands for!" Michael cried. "To-to fraternize with them would be. . . unthinkable! They want to _murder_ us-"

"Have you ever thought, Michael, that the reason they want to kill you is _because_ you think they do?" Lucifer asked. "They're shunned and tormented by our society. It does wonders to making a being bitter."

Michael fell silent. The air turned awkward, the reminder of Lucifer's Fall hanging heavy in the air between the brothers.

"Great. So we're going to try to talk to, make friends with, and train a virtual atomic bomb?" Gabriel asked, nervously breaking the silence.

"Yes," Lucifer said.

"If he's friendly, we can train him. Mold him," Michael said, sounding grimly resigned. "But if he's dangerous. . . we all know what _will_ happen, right?"

As one, the angels around the table nodded their heads, Castiel doing so reluctantly. He didn't know why he felt such a resistance to it. Nephilim were incredibly dangerous and hated by the angel community. He shouldn't want anything to do with the half-angel, half-human.

But for some reason, he felt a connection with the small, broken human. And that scared him more than anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Sorry for the short-ish, kind of boring chapter. Don't worry, it will get better.
> 
> Next chapter: Get ready for some serious Dean whump. There will be a lot of that from now on. I like that stuff, so I tend to write it a lot. :)
> 
> See you beautiful people soon!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everybody!
> 
> I've been pretty occupied lately, so my updating might be a little slow. Here's a nice long chapter to make up for any wait time!

**Seven**

When Dean woke next, he felt the most aware he had felt since the fire. A quick glance around him told him he wasn't in the facility. Nowhere near.

The facility was either white or black. The walls were always a blinding, eye-piercing white, everywhere but the Dark. 

Here, the walls were a soft gray and pale yellow. They were paneled with a smooth silvery stone around the edges, something that dimly reflected the soft lamps that were lit about. There was no one else there, though there were other empty beds.

Wait. There was someone here.

The demon was leaning against the far wall. When he saw Dean struggle back to consciousness, he came forward again. 

Dean tensed as he neared. The demon paused, opting to sit on a bed across the aisle from Dean's, his movements slow and careful.

_Anubis,_ Dean remembered. _He said his name was Anubis._ He'd never heard that word spoken around the facility, but that didn't mean this so-called Anubis didn't still work for Asmodeus and Azazel. _And besides,_ Dean thought, _didn't the old facility burn down? We could be in a new one, with a new staff._

The thought sent a wave of panic through him.

"Do you remember where you are?" the demon asked.

Dean swallowed past his insanely dry throat, struggling to form words.

Anubis blinked, looking angry at himself for a moment. "Of course. Give me a second, kid."

He crossed the room. Dean watched him move warily, taking in the smooth, predatory movements. From the change of clothes, he could tell that it was at least a different day than when he had last woken.

Anubis returned with a clear glass of water, something that Dean would have drooled for if he had been any more hydrated.

The demon paused as he got within ten feet of Dean, his movements slowing. Dean still tensed as the demon neared enough to put the glass on the bedside table beside him.

"Do you want help sitting up?"

Dean stilled, staring warily at him. Anubis's face was soft. His icy blue eyes, though cold and frightening, were kind and held a sort of understanding warmth in them.

_Might as well get it over with,_ Dean thought. If he was going to be punished for killing Asmodeus, there was no point in waiting.

He nodded tentatively.

Dean expected to be lifted roughly or grabbed by the arms, but Anubis was gentle. His hands were surprisingly warm. He lifted Dean as if the human weighed nothing.

Which, Dean realized as he glanced down at himself, might actually be true. Underneath the thin white shirt he was wearing, he was skin and bones.

"Here."

The rim of the cup was placed at Dean's lips. The human started in surprise, unused to being cared for in the least. Anubis was patient, somehow seeming to know when Dean needed air and when he was ready to drink again. When the little human had finished the water glass, Anubis placed it on the table.

Dean laid back on the pillows, exhausted just from that endeavor. But he felt better, and the awful taste of blood was nearly gone from his mouth.

"Can you speak now?" Anubis asked.

Dean opened his mouth, saying the first word that came to mind. "Castiel."

He blinked, just as surprised as Anubis. That hadn't been what he'd expected, but it had felt right on his tongue. His voice was raspy and weak, barely audible, but Anubis seemed to have caught it, judging by the surprised look that matched Dean's own.

"Castiel? How do you. . . ? I must have said it at some point," he murmured to himself. His eyes flicked up to Dean's, narrowing curiously. "You want me to call him?"

Suddenly realizing how he looked, pale and freakish in the hospital bed, Dean shook his head no. Why he cared what he looked like, he had no idea, but for some reason, he didn't want the powerful angel to see him like. . . this.

Anubis narrowed his eyes again, this time in amusement. "I won't call him. Do you remember me?"

"Anubis," Dean rasped, his throat hurting. He needed another glass of water. But the demon nodded, making no move to do anything other than continue the conversation.

"Good. And you remember where you are?"

At this, Dean fell silent.

He was. . . in the Bunker. But was he in the Bunker? Was it really _the_ Bunker, the one that housed the rebellion? Was it fake, a facility like the last but in disguise?

He decided to keep talking and try to figure it out as he went. So far, Dean didn't get the feeling they were going to punish him yet. Maybe get him back to partial health and _then_ take apart his body and mind piece by piece.

Realizing he'd zoned out, Dean shook his head violently. The movement made his muscles spark in pain and he winced, stilling. Anubis nodded patiently.

"The Bunker. You were rescued from Azazel by the archangels of Heaven. Do you know who they are?"

Dean swallowed, recognizing that the demon wanted an answer. He struggled to form the words, his tongue feeling thick and useless. "M-Michael. . . Lu. . . cifer," he forced out. Anubis nodded encouragingly. Dean frowned, trying to remember the last one. What had the demons always said? They'd never really talked about the archangels, and if they had, there were far more derogatory names in place. "Cas. . . tiel?"

Anubis shook his head. "Nope. Gabriel, kid. He's not as well-known. Castiel is an ordinary angel. Powerful one, but ordinary."

Dean nodded, realizing he'd fucked up. Would Anubis beat him? He didn't look particularly inclined to violence. In fact, the demon seemed strange to Dean. He was most definitely a demon, the aura of Hell surrounding him, but he also seemed. . . softer. Kinder. More. . . emotional? No.

Human. More human.

"I'm going to call Castiel now," Anubis said. "Are you okay with that?"

Dean hesitated for a second, wondering if this was a stupid thing to do. Would Castiel punish him instead?

He found himself nodding, despite the caution weighing him down. Anubis nodded and got up, heading for the door. Dean made a soft noise in his throat, suddenly afraid of being left alone. Alastair would surely come for him then.

"Don't worry, kid. I'll still be here," Anubis said. His voice had switched, somehow. It had been soft before, as if afraid of scaring him. Kind too, like he was a good person. But now there was something else, a sort of soft gentleness that bespoke understanding and sympathy.

As the demon turned, Dean caught the brand on the top of his left wrist.

025.

It took only a few seconds for the angel to arrive. By the time Anubis had called into the hall and sent a guard looking for him, turned, and walked back to Dean's bed, the angel was knocking on the doors.

Dean immediately tensed, suddenly afraid. Who was behind that door? What if it wasn't Castiel? What if Anubis was telling the truth, like Dean so desperately wanted to believe, but it happened to be that the demons had broken in and were coming to get him?

Dean didn't think he could stand watching Anubis be killed by Azazel or Alastair. He didn't know why, but he hated the thought of it with every fiber of his being.

The word _friend_ floated around in the back of his mind, but he slammed down on that thought quickly.

Anubis opened the door, conversing with whoever was outside for a split second. Dean couldn't catch any of the words.

Then Anubis was opening the door wider and the angel with dark hair and eyes like the edge of a midnight sky was strolling in. 

His face was a carefully constructed mask of cold detachment. His eyes, though curious, were frigid and almost angry. Dean tensed, fear beginning to course through his veins.

The angel looked angry. He looked like he could kill Dean, torture him and beat him within an inch of his life. He looked like he could listen to Dean beg for mercy and not be fazed.

Dean struggled to control his breathing, struggled to keep himself from passing out again. He didn't want to make a fool of himself again. He didn't want to give them any more reason to hurt him.

All thought left his mind as the angel opened his mouth and spoke in a whiskey-over-gravel rasp that made Dean's head spin.

"Hello, 005. My name is Castiel."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured I could leave you on a cliffhanger. ;)
> 
> I love all of you, and I appreciate the support I've been receiving! See you soon!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! Just a reminder from your friendly writer that you're amazing and beautiful. I love you all!
> 
> It looks like the snow is here to stay until the weekend, so I probably won't be in school for a while. Unfortunately, it's still finals week, so I'm still cramming for tests and projects. Updating might still be a little slow. Sorry!
> 
> Enjoy this chapter!

**Eight**

The boy looked terrified.

It went against everything in Castiel to continue glaring at him when he could practically smell the fear radiating off of the slave. He steeled his will, reminding himself that this being could destroy whole worlds if it wanted to.

That was sort of hard to believe, however, when the kid looked to be thirty pounds soaking wet. He was frighteningly skinny, his bones showing everywhere. Dark bruises and stained bandages peeked out from underneath a loose white shirt. There was almost no skin showing where there wasn't a bruise, burn, or laceration. But the skin that did show was a ghostly white.

"Can he speak?" Castiel asked Anubis, careful to keep his tone neutral. The young general glared at him.

"No," he replied stiffly. Castiel knew why the half-hellhound was angry with him, and he intended to explain later. The young general had explained to him before letting him into the room that the human was scared and it was best to talk softly and be gentle.

Castiel was practically doing the opposite of that now. And if the guilt that ate at him now kept him from sleeping tonight. . . he deserved it.

"Fine. Can you shake your head yes or no?" Castiel demanded, his voice harsh and cold.

The boy was shaking now. He looked no older than twenty, his frail body practically rattling the hospital bed he was lying on.

"Can't do that either, _sir_ ," Anubis gritted out. Castiel gave him a warning look, reminding him of his place, and turned back to the boy.

"Fine. If your answer to a question is yes, blink once. Blink twice for no," he decided. The human blinked once. "Good."

Castiel settled himself on a bed across from the boy, giving him the space it seemed he desperately wanted. He was shaking badly, and Castiel noted the way Anubis stayed at the bed nearest him. The young general was making a foolish mistake by getting attached to this boy. It seemed that if 005 even breathed wrong, Michael would blow him off the face of the earth.

Not wanting to think about the possibilities of Anubis versus Michael, Castiel focused on the task at hand.

"Do you know where you are?"

The boy hesitated, then blinked once. Castiel nodded, thought for a moment, then glanced over at Anubis. "How much have you told him?"

"I told him where he was, who I was, and who you were. I also told him he was safe and you wouldn't hurt him, and I hope you'll help me hold my word," Anubis said. His icy blue eyes bespoke the fact that he knew he was overstepping his bounds and was fully prepared to continue doing so if it meant upholding what he'd promised. Inwardly, Castiel sighed. Lucifer often chose generals that reflected his own personality.

"Very well. Do you know where we rescued you from?" Castiel asked. The boy hesitated again, as if unsure which answer would bring him more pain. He decided on blinking twice. Castiel frowned at Anubis.

"You haven't told him who we saved him from?"

"It hasn't come up in conversation," the half-demon said dryly. Castiel gave him a warning look.

"Alright. You know Azazel, don't you?" he asked.

It was a foolish question. The second the name slipped from Castiel's lips, 005's whole demeanor changed. He tensed up, his breathing and shaking increasing, his stunning green eyes wild with a sudden panic.

"Sir, Castiel? With all due respect, if you mention that name or any of the others again I will forcibly remove you by any means necessary," Anubis growled.

"I realize that. I apologize," Castiel said, his grip on his emotions loosening for a moment. The worry and guilt in his voice slid through only slightly, but the knowledge that Castiel hadn't meant to terrify him seemed to soothe the boy.

He calmed slightly, though his green eyes were still wild with fear. They were stunning, Castiel realized. Shockingly green, like sunlight through an ivy leaf.

_Focus._

"You know him, then," Castiel said, struggling for a moment to keep his control for a moment. One blink. Yes.

Castiel gritted his teeth, trying to think of a way to word the next question. He was beginning to realize that despite his best efforts to stay cold and unattached, he was also trying his hardest not to scare the kid.

Judging from the rattling breath and terrified shaking, it wasn't working.

"You were rescued from a facility in the mountains, your captors' main base. We raided it and burned it to the ground, but they managed to get away," Castiel said. He hesitated, then said quieter. "At least, two of them. You killed one when you were saving my life."

"You'd do well to remember that," Anubis gritted out.

Castiel clenched his jaw. "If you don't start showing the respect expected of your station, I will have to ask you to leave."

"I'm not leaving this room," Anubis said quietly. His soft tone fooled no one. Castiel held his icy gaze for as long as the general dared to return it.

Finally, Anubis looked away, backing down. Inwardly, Castiel breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't think watching an angel put a demon in their place would win him very many trust points from the kid.

After a beat of intense silence, Castiel continued. "You saved my life, for which I am grateful," he said. He hesitated, wondering if he should ask the next question. _Better to be direct and get it over with._ "Do you know what you are?"

005 stilled.

His green eyes had gone from scared to panicked to terrified. But now they seemed past fear. 005 looked almost. . . resigned.

That was worse than fear, in Castiel's opinion.

But he had asked a question. And it hung heavy in the air. Anubis was watching the kid intently, and Castiel knew he was just as curious as the angel was.

Finally, 005 blinked once, then again.

Castiel released a breath.

_Is this a good thing?_

_Yes. He hasn't been exposed to the stigmas and prejudices of the Nephilim. But. . . he might still be._

_Michael said we could mold him. Maybe that can start now._

_But should I tell him?_

He paused here, knowing he was taking too long to ask the next question. Anubis was looking at him expectantly, as if he was waiting for Castiel to say it.

But was it smart?

_No going back now._

"You're a Nephilim," Castiel finally said, his voice flat and unemotional.

All hope of the boy not know what Nephilim were flew out the window.

The effect was immediate. The kid tensed, looking as if he were struggling to sit up. Raspy, choked noises were forcing themselves out of his throat, and he was shaking his head weakly.

"Whoa, whoa, kid," Anubis said, coming forward. "Calm down. It's okay. Just hear him out, okay?"

"No," 005 rasped. "No."

"You're. . . not?" Castiel asked, confused.

"No," 005 choked out. "Hu. . . man. Hu-" He cut off in a rough bark of coughing, his entire frail body rocking with the force of his heaves. Castiel winced at the painful-sounding hacking. When 005 finally straightened, there were a few involuntary tears on his cheeks.

"Don't talk, buddy," Anubis murmured.

"You're not human, 005," Castiel said. The human winced at the name and Castiel made a mental note not to call him that in the future.

The boy was now blinking twice, over and over again, desperately repeating the silent word. _No. No. No._

"Your parents, kid," Anubis said softly. His voice was more gentle than Castiel had ever heard it, a voice reserved for children and frightened animals. He hadn't even known the fierce young general had possessed such a tone until today. "Your parents. Did you have a mom or dad that just. . . left?"

005 was still blinking _no_ over and over, but now there were frustrated tears running down his face. Anubis shared a look with Castiel.

Denial. He didn't _want_ to be a Nephilim. And as Castiel considered what that really meant, he discovered that he wouldn't have wanted to be either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, Castiel seems like an ass. And. . . he kind of is. But like I've said before, character development is important. ;)
> 
> I love you all, and I hope you have a great rest of your day! See you soon!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone!
> 
> I have another chapter for you! Full of fluff and angst and all that good stuff. I hope you enjoy it!

**Nine**

The angel left soon after. As if his only job had been to come in, terrify Dean to the point of tears, drop a bomb that would tear apart the world as he knew it, and then leave.

What was worse, infinitely worse, was Anubis's silence. As if Dean's new fr-new _acquaintance_ agreed with the horrible truth that had just been displayed to him.

Nephilim.

Hated by both humans and angels, Nephilim were the products of a forbidden love. Humans hated them because they were powerful, able to bring down buildings and read minds, if history was correct. Angels hated them because they were powerful too, sometimes enough to challenge archangels.

Both races saw them as abominations, things that should be shunned and disregarded.

_If I was lonely before, I guess it can only get worse._

The feeling of sadness and isolation only intensified when the nurses appeared, checked on his healing injuries, and told Anubis to leave. The general murmured a goodnight and left, leaving Dean by himself in the middle of the isolated infirmary.

The lights switched off, the glow of a small lamp beside Dean's bed the only source of light.

The human shivered.

It was times like this that terrified him. In the day time, there were always nurses bustling around or the sounds of the Bunker coming through the walls to fill the silence between Anubis's visits. At night, there was only the voices in Dean's head and the echoes of his screams to keep him company in the near-darkness.

It crept in along the edges, seeming to come closer to Dean with every heartbeat. Sometimes the human would stare at one point on his bed, convinced the darkness was actually creeping in, invading the little circle of light the lamp on his table provided.

In the almost-dark, Dean's demons came.

They whispered in his ears, telling him things that made him shiver. Anubis and Castiel were all a set up. Soon, Azazel would tire of lulling Dean into a false sense of security. Soon, he would appear and take Dean away, strap him to the Table or throw him back into the Dark.

Somehow, Dean knew that he wouldn't be able to handle that. After being exposed to this, to a soft bed and warm blankets and water whenever he could get a nurse to notice him. . . after acquiring the closest thing to a friend he'd had since Sammy. . .

He knew that if he went back, he wouldn't be able to take it. He would break. And that thought scared him and calmed him at the same time.

_At least. . . maybe then it wouldn't hurt._

Dean slammed down on that thought quickly. That kind of thinking led to very dangerous things.

He was just getting a grip on his emotions when the worst happened.

The light flickered once.

Dean froze, turning his head slowly to look at the lamp. Over the week, under the care of the nurses and Anubis's watchful eye, Dean had regained enough strength to do simple things like turn his head and stay awake for longer periods of time. Still, it took a lot of his energy to turn and look at the now-flickering lamp.

Fear began to pound through Dean's veins.

If the lamp went off, Dean would be right back in the Dark. Alastair would be there, he would hurt Dean for killing Asmodeus, he would be _so angry_ -

The light flickered again. It was definitely dimmer now.

_Don't panic. It's just a stupid night-light, you'll be fine. Don't be such a baby. You're fine. You're fine, you're f-_

The light went out.

Terror flooded Dean's veins. He tensed and curled into a small, scared ball. His still-healing injuries shrieked in protest. Stitches ripped and scabs reopened. Blood flowed, warm and wet. Burns stretched, broken bones shifted. Agony flared throughout Dean's body, only driving him to even more panic.

_Nonononononononononono-_

He must have been screaming. He must have been, because the angel that was in the hallway, debating whether or not this was a stupid idea, jerked into action and crashed into the room. 

Dean didn't know. World War Three could have smashed through the room and he would never have known. The pain consumed him, driving away any rational thought. His frightened, panicked mind convinced him that he was back in the Dark, that Alastair had finally had the bright idea of moving the Table into the Dark to that he could finally, finally break Dean-

Dean's thrashing stopped.

His arms were being pinned to his sides, and he found he was too exhausted to move any other part of his body. As warm arms wrapped around him, Dean collapsed into a boneless heap.

Pain still raced endlessly through him, but as he stopped moving, it started to fade, becoming a barely-manageable throb. 

"Shh, you're alright, sweet boy. Don't worry, you're safe. Shh," someone was whispering. For a moment, Dean wondered if Anubis had somehow showed up in the middle of the night. But he knew the whiskey-over-gravel voice wasn't Anubis, even if the person didn't register in his brain. It instantly relaxed him, calming the human's heartbeat and frantic, panicked breathing.

"Was it a dream? Did you have a bad dream, sweet boy?" the person asked. They were holding Dean, gently rocking their bodies side to side in a soothing motion. The person smelled good. Like the wind off the ocean in the middle of a storm. Salt, fresh air, wind, thunder, and the crackle of lightning, all encased in a single scent. The person smelled different from Anubis, too. Still, even if they weren't the demon general, they were. . . 

Safe? Yes.

_Safe. This person is safe._

Dean closed his eyes, exhausted, resting his head against the person's chest. He could barely move, he was so exhausted from thrashing around. The person stayed, gently rocking him side to side, whispering soothing words.

"Dark," Dean forced out. "Dark."

His throat scratched and he almost coughed, but he held it in, managed to swallow it before it turned into a fit that would take his lungs apart. The person inhaled slightly.

"I see. It's alright, sweetheart. You're safe now. Nothing in the dark will hurt you," they murmured. 

And Dean believed them. Trusted them. For the first time in a long time, he felt safe. His body, weary after so many long years of being constantly afraid, recognized that he was finally being taken care of. Exhausted, Dean felt the abyss of unconsciousness yawning wide.

"Stay," he begged, his raspy, hoarse voice barely audible.

"Don't worry," the person murmured as Dean drifted off into sleep. "I'll protect you. No one will ever hurt you again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww. . . I bet NO ONE can guess who that person was. :)
> 
> See you all soon! I'm off to go break my ass jumping off of snow mounds on my flimsy sled. I love you all!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everybody!
> 
> Unfortunately, we're back at school today. That means less writing time.
> 
> The good news, though, is that things start picking up from here. Sorry if it was a little boring/slow before. We're getting into more of the Destiel parts now. ;)
> 
> Still this one chapter, though. It's important to the story, I promise. :)

**Ten**

Castiel held the boy as he fell asleep, aware of the wetness of his blood spreading through the training shirt he'd been wearing. He'd been coming back from an intense training session and had stopped outside the door of the infirmary.

_If I don't apologize, I won't get any sleep_ , he'd realized.

But it would have been stupid. Dangerous, even. But when the boy had screamed, Castiel hadn't needed to make up his mind before he was already inside and halfway across the room.

And now he sat here, on the edge of the small hospital bed, rocking the boy soothingly as he slept. He had said it was dark, and Castiel remembered Anubis waking the barracks with his screams in the early days after he'd escaped from Azazel. He'd always been saying the same thing.

_Dark. Dark. So dark._

Castiel closed his eyes tightly, though he couldn't see anything. The boy was still shaking slightly, his body trembling with the aftershocks of pain.

Castiel slowly released 005 and laid him back down on the bed. Then he called for a nurse. The kid was bleeding badly, if Castiel's soaked shirt was any indication.

The angel stayed until the nurses arrived. Then he forced himself to leave, forced himself to turn his back on the slave he'd somehow promised to protect, despite his best efforts to stay unattached.

_Stupid. I'm so stupid._

And yet. . . And yet, Castiel didn't feel any regret. Not one bit.

Castiel woke up with a start. For a moment, he couldn't figure out why he'd woken.

Then he remembered. It set an itch off in his skin that had him throwing the covers back and pulling on clothes, as close as he could get to the normal training uniform.

Angels in the Bunker were given two sets of training clothes. One of Castiel's sets was dirty. The other. . .

He nearly threw up as he remembered how soaked in blood he'd been when he'd taken the clothes off the night before. 005's blood.

Castiel nearly threw himself out of his room, if only so his mind couldn't conjure up a phantom scent of blood. He staggered through the hallways of the Bunker, heading for one of the many training rooms.

One look out the windows told him that it was unspeakably early in the morning.

The training room was unoccupied, save for someone at the far end of the room. Castiel ignored them as he went for the rack of blades along one wall. 

He needed to hack something apart. Dummies were the next best thing to demons.

Castiel grabbed the largest blade, one longer than his arm. It resembled Michael's sword more than an angel blade, but it didn't matter. Castiel picked it up, hand fitting into the well-worn grip.

The angel headed for the circle of dummies in the center of the floor. Without further ado, he began to swing at them with expert precision.

_Swing, slash, block, feint, swing, slash, defend, block, attack, forget. I have to forget. I have to forget._

_I can't._

Growling low in his throat, Castiel swung harder.

He didn't know how long he hacked apart the dummies. All he knew was that by the time his blade met another mid-swing, he was drenched in sweat.

Anubis, also soaked in perspiration, held the sword that was currently blocking Castiel's.

"Care to spar?" he asked.

Castiel nodded once.

Quick as lightning, Anubis struck. Castiel blocked, and they began a deadly dance of precise strokes and clanging blades. Castiel wasn't sure half the time if Anubis was really sparring, or if the general was actually trying to kill him.

Finally, the half-demon managed to sweep Castiel's feet out from under him. With a grunt of pain, the angel commander went down. He found Anubis's sword at his throat.

After waiting a beat for the demon to take the blade from his neck, Castiel glared up at the blond general.

"Alright, I get it," Castiel panted. "You've won. Now let me up."

Anubis didn't move. His blade pricked at Castiel's throat.

Suddenly realizing what a compromised position he was in, Castiel froze. Anubis _was_ a half-demon, and he _had_ come from Azazel's facility. What if this was all a cleverly planned trick? What if Anubis really _wasn't_ a good guy? What if-

"See, that's your problem," Anubis said.

"What?" Castiel demanded.

With a swish of displaced air and a cool slide of metal-on-metal, Anubis sheathed his sword. He held out a hand, and Castiel grasped it. The general heaved him to his feet, then looked coldly into Castiel's eyes. He hadn't released Castiel's forearm, and there was something steely in his ice blue eyes that Castiel hadn't seen often.

"Your problem is that you assume people will do things based on their species, on whether or not they have demon or angel blood, not on their values and beliefs," Anubis said quietly. "You know nothing about that kid. But I do, Castiel, and he is not the abomination you think he is."

"I don't think he's an abomination," Castiel replied, his voice firm.

Anubis's icy eyes challenged that statement. His handsome face was set, hard and grim. "That kid's special, Castiel. He's broken too, and there's nothing I can do about it. Not me, anyway."

"You know nothing of what you're talking about," Castiel hissed.

"He told me this morning that I smelled different. That whoever came in and saved him last night smelled like the ocean during a thunderstorm," Anubis said. "Personally, I think you stink of ozone and salt. Only an angel's mate can really find their scent as pleasing as he did."

Castiel growled and braced his arm across Anubis's chest, slamming the young man against the nearest wall. "You have _no idea_ what you're talking about."

Again, Anubis challenged Castiel with his eyes. "All I'm trying to say is that if you continue to break him down like you did, you'll be no better than Azazel and Alastair."

Castiel snarled, pressing his arm up and against Anubis's throat. "Shut your mouth, boy. I could make your life a living hell with a snap of my fingers."

Anubis glared at him, icy eyes cold. "I've already been there, Castiel," he rasped, his voice choked by Castiel's arm. "He has too. And he'll be through much worse if Michael does what he wants to."

Castiel loosened the pressure on the general's throat and stepped back, wary. "What do you mean?"

Coughing roughly, Anubis glared up at Castiel. "You're really that blind? Nephilim are incredibly powerful, Castiel. Michael sees the kid as just another way to get an advantage in this war. But his methods won't work. He'll end up killing the kid before he can make him do what he wants."

"And what is that?" Castiel demanded.

"Annihilation," Anubis said, his voice softer now. His eyes held real truth in them, and horror too. "The slaughter of the demons. He'll want to kill them. _Everyone._ He wants them _all_ to bow to him."

"Why are you telling me this?" Castiel demanded.

"Because he knows I'm a threat. He's sent me on a mission with the Fourth Division to try to take out the Central Cave," Anubis said.

"That's a suicide mission," Castiel breathed. 

Anubis nodded gravely. "He knows. I'm going to try to make it out alive, but the odds are stacked against me. He wants me away from the kid so I don't interfere with whatever he has planned. I'll be gone for months, a year, even. You know how the Fourth is."

Castiel found himself nodding, straightening. "So you want me to protect 005."

Anubis's hand twitched to his left arm, where the number 025 was still branded on the skin. "Yes. He's been through enough, Castiel. Please, sir, make sure he doesn't have to go through any more."

Castiel raised an eyebrow. "Being polite now that you need something from me?"

Anubis looked panicked for a moment, before he realized Castiel was joking. The tension in his powerful shoulders eased. "Yes."

Castiel sighed, watching the way the light bounced off the edge of his blade for a moment.

"I'll protect him. I kind of already promised, anyway," Castiel said, smiling ruefully to himself. Anubis snorted.

"He's kind of hard not to pledge your life to."

"Yes, he is."

There was a beat of silence. Castiel looked up at Anubis, his eyebrows rising worriedly. "I promise to keep him safe, Anubis."

"Thank you, sir," Anubis said. He sounded relieved, as if an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"I would tell your superior to watch out too," Castiel said after a moment. "I think Lucifer will be on your side with this."

"If he isn't?"

"I'll convince him."

"Thank you, sir," Anubis repeated. He smiled for a brief second. It wasn't the soft, gentle smile he saved for 005, but it wasn't the cocky grin Castiel was used to either.

"Good luck on your mission," Castiel said.

"Good luck on yours," Anubis replied. With a salute, the general turned and headed toward the showers in the locker rooms.

After a moment, Castiel called after him. "Anubis?"

The general turned. "Yes, sir?"

"Just. . . make sure you come back alive."

Anubis nodded once. Then he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh. . .
> 
> Have I ever said that stories are like rollercoasters, and the way to make ups feel great is to have really bad downs? Yes, it's true. And we might be going down even further. Or we might be going up. I can't tell you. ;) Sorry.
> 
> See you all sooooooooon!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooooooooo, everybody! I'm back! Sorry for the long wait for updates. I've had a bit of writer's block, and I'm afraid that after rewriting this chapter seventeen (you think I'm joking. I'm not. I counted) times, this might not be the level of writing you're used to, which I apologize for. The Destiel fluff is coming in a few chapters, I promise.
> 
> I'll stop jabbering now. Enjoy? ;)

**Eleven**

Dean was in the middle of eating the first solid food he'd had in weeks when Anubis appeared.

"Hey, kiddo. I see you're eating carrots. Nice," the demon said, ruffling Dean's hair. Dean blinked up at him, the urge to smile coming to him for the first time in years. He didn't, but it was a near thing.

Anubis sat with Dean while the human finished his little meal of carrots and squares of meat. When he was finished, Dean frowned at Anubis.

"What?" he rasped.

Anubis blinked up at him, surprised. "What?"

"What's. . . wr-o-ong?" Dean forced out, wincing at the grating of his voice. Anubis placed Dean's water glass in his hand and sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

"How did you know?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. Anubis chuckled, looking away. 

He didn't say anything for a moment. Then he sighed.

"I'm leaving, kid." When Dean locked up, Anubis placed his hand on his arm soothingly. "It's fine, it's only. . . only for a few months."

Dean glared at him. "Li-Li. . . ar," he ground out.

Anubis chuckled again, but it sounded sadder. More resigned. The sound made a rock of fear settle in Dean's stomach.

"You're going to be spending some more time with Castiel, alright?"

Dean flinched at the name. "No," he rasped out.

"Stop talking, you'll blow out your vocal chords before they're even healed," Anubis chided, tapping the water glass. Sighing, Dean lifted the cup to his lips and drank obediently. He was now strong enough to do so, a fact that he was ridiculously proud of.

When he'd finished the cup, Dean shook his head firmly. Anubis sighed, looking at the blanket instead of Dean's face.

"I'll be gone for a while, kid. Lord Michael sent me on mission that's pretty far away," Anubis explained. He fiddled with the blanket. Dean frowned mouthing a single word, waiting for the demon to look up at him.

_When?_

"A few months, kid. I'll be back in. . . in a few months, alright?" The answer was still frustratingly vague. Worse, the promise, if it even was one, sounded weak and tentative. Anubis's voice had lost its usual confidence and bravado.

Dean breathed out a puff of breath and looked dejectedly at the tray on his lap. The small victory of eating carrots seemed lost now, drowned in the shadow of Anubis's leaving.

"I'll be back. When I see you next, I expect you to be able to do a freaking cartwheel, alright?" Anubis asked. Dean snorted, nodding. Again, the urge to smile came over Dean. He couldn't make his face work in time for Anubis to see.

"Bye," he choked out. The word was hoarse and raspy, made even worse by the involuntary tears threatening in the back of Dean's throat. He swallowed thickly.

"Bye, kiddo. See you soon, alright?" Anubis said, smiling sadly. Dean nodded. "Alright. I'll see you before you know it."

He ruffled Dean's hair a last time and stood, heading for the doors.

Dean looked after him, the rock in his stomach settling in deeper with every step. By the time Anubis had walked through the doors of the infirmary, Dean was wishing he hadn't eaten those carrots.

A week passed after Anubis left. Dean laid on the bed dejectedly, experimenting with moving different muscles and testing out how they would work. The hooked him up to a machine once a day. It made his whole body feel tingly and strange. The nurse said it was so his muscles didn't atrophy.

Dean didn't really think there was a point. He hadn't had muscles in the first place.

He found, however, that he could begin to move without too much trouble. Even better, he could begin to speak in full sentences without his vocal chords feeling like they were going to go up in flames. In fact, he had managed to have a short conversation with a nurse that morning.

Despite all the revelations, Dean was still bored. He hadn't been bored in a long time, but he found he didn't miss the feeling. There was nothing to do in the little isolated infirmary, no one to talk to. 

The doors opened and Dean perked up.

For a moment, he was almost sure Anubis would walk through, with his sunshine-golden hair and laughing, glacier-blue eyes. But the person that entered was not Anubis.

_Castiel._

A shiver, both of fear and. . . something else, ran down Dean's spine. The angel was wearing light gray armor, not unlike the training clothes Dean was used to seeing. It looked light and flimsy, nothing like the shining battle armor he'd been wearing when Dean had first seen him.

Castiel walked to the bed across from Dean and sat down, as if wary of his space.

_Or he just hates me,_ Dean thought. _All angels hate Nephilim._

He swallowed past the lump that suddenly rose in his throat at the thought of Castiel hating him.

"Hello, 005," Castiel said in his whiskey-over-gravel voice. Dean flinched, the effect of the angel's voice doing nothing to soothe the tide of fear that the number brought forth. The angel tilted his head curiously, frowning. "You don't like the name?"

Dean resisted the urge to snort, knowing that this angel was probably capable of delivering painful beatings. "Not really a name, is it?" he rasped.

Castiel frowned. "What would you like me to call you?"

Dean paused, thinking.

What _did_ he want to be called? Did he trust this angel enough with his real name?

While in the facility with Azazel, Alastair had demanded that Dean forget his own name. The little human nearly had, in those early days of continuous torture, but in the Dark, he had whispered his name to himself. He remembered.

"Dean," the Nephilim whispered.

Castiel looked about as surprised as Dean felt. _W_ _hy did I say that? Oh God, he's going to-_

"'Dean' it is," Castiel said. He tilted his head slightly, watching Dean. "My name is Castiel."

Dean swallowed and nodded. He knew the angel's name. He could have whispered it in his sleep if he'd wanted to.

Suddenly aching to move, get out of bed and ru- _walk_ away, Dean shifted uncomfortably. Could angels read minds? 

Castiel was watching him, eyebrows furrowed, as if he could see the Nephilim's internal struggle. He seemed to be having an internal struggle himself. Dean suddenly wondered why he was here.

It must have shown on his face, because Castiel sighed. "I've been assigned to oversee your physical progress," he explained.

Dean frowned. What did that mean?

Castiel must have read the question on his face again, because he rubbed at his face tiredly. "That means that I'll be helping you. . . train," he said. He sounded hesitant, a tad of bitterness underlining his tone, as if didn't agree with the order at all.

_He_ does _hate me. God, am I that repulsive?_ Dean wondered. He'd always thought that angels went a bit overboard with the whole hate-the-Nephilim thing. But if that was how they were raised, he couldn't really begrudge them their upbringing, could he?

Dean just didn't know why his heart hurt so badly thinking about _this_ particular angel hating him.

As he contemplated what that really meant, Dean found he didn't want to dig any deeper.

_Just survive. It's simple. You survived at the facility. Be smart, be unimposing. You'll survive this too._

_I have to survive this._

For the life of him, Dean couldn't figure out _why_ he needed to survive, _why_ he needed to keep breathing and living. He had a vague idea. . .

But as Dean looked up, caught a flash of ocean blue, he realized that the knowledge that his need to survive stemmed from the angel sitting across from him was nearly as terrifying as any torture he'd been put through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALSO, THIS IS VEEERRRY IMPORTANT!!!!
> 
> I got this entire idea for the story from the wonderful person Steelcode, so you can thank them if you're enjoying this story at all. They're a very supportive person, and they have great ideas! I twisted the prompt a little, but most of the idea was their's. Thanks, Steelcode! ;)
> 
> See you all soon!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone!
> 
> I have another chapter for you! Things are beginning to pick up, which will be great! I have some more chapters written out. Unfortunately, it's also finals week, so I have a lot of studying to do.
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!

**Twelve**

A week after Castiel told Dean that they were to train together, the human was released from the infirmary.

Castiel met him in a training room the first day of his training.

He looked small and scared, his gaunt, pale face tight with tension and fear. He looked like he was practically swimming in what must have been the tiniest training uniform they could have found.

Still, Castiel found that when the Nephilim straightened, he was nearly an inch taller than the angel. He just hunched over. A lot.

And ducked his head. And whispered. And flinched.

Each time that happened, Castiel was caught between wanting to shout at him and wanting to wrap his wings around the boy's shaking body and soothe his fears.

He did neither, instead pretending he hadn't noticed.

The first thing day, when Castiel met Dean in full training gear, he looked him up and down and sighed. "We're going to start with the normal physical training. Running, stretching, lifting weights. Then we'll move on to. . . more delicate things," he said, narrowing his eyes at Dean. The small Nephilim nodded, head down, chin tucked to his chest.

For a moment, the urge to grab his chin and lift it was so strong, Castiel actually took a step forward. He remembered himself just in time and pretended he'd just meant to walk past the Nephilim, which he did.

Dean flinched at that too.

At first, Dean was pathetic. As Castiel waited for him to finish throwing up his breakfast on the forest trail they'd been running on, he reflected that it wasn't the boy's fault. He'd been held captive for so long, it was a wonder his bones and muscles could support him the same.

Still, there was something about having to stop every half mile to let the Nephilim fall to his knees and retch whatever water or food he'd eaten before their run that had Castiel thinking this would take a while.

"When are you going to learn not to eat before we run?" Castiel wondered. Dean choked a little, retching some more.

"Sorry," he rasped.

"Don't apologize," Castiel sighed. He checked his watch, cursing at their pace. The Nephilim was too damn slow.

He didn't give up, however. Castiel had to give him that. Whether they were running two miles or twenty, the boy always gave his entire being to the workout. Sometimes it took all day, but it was the effort that counted, right?

Right.

Except the Fourth Division had finally made it to the Central Cave. Anubis had sent his last letter the night before, explaining their plan and how they would execute it. It was well thought-out, crafted by a brilliant mind up against a multitude of challenges. But the fact remained that Anubis was one man against a host of over ten thousand, and the Fourth Division wasn't renowned for its skill.

Castiel had yet to tell the kid.

Worse still were the reports Michael demanded. The angel lord expected Dean to be able to fight. He said Castiel was going too soft on him.

And maybe he was.

Maybe he was slipping extra bread rations into the boy's tray because he was still one hundred and thirty pounds, soaking wet. Maybe he let him off easy after a particularly tough run, skipped the extra set of weights they had scheduled for that day in favor of something easier.

_If Michael could see Dean now, he wouldn't be so sure about his capabilities as a weapon,_ Castiel thought, observing the boy's thin body convulsing powerfully as he retched again.

After a moment, Dean staggered to his feet again, shaky. "I-I'm alright," he rasped. His voice had gotten better, but it was still wrecked from the smoke and from puking his guts up.

"Ready to go?" Castiel asked coolly. Dean nodded, though he looked anything but ready.

Not stopping to allow himself to feel sympathy or pity, Castiel started to run again. As Dean followed, struggling to match his pace, Castiel kept his eyes straight ahead. Never mind how the ragged, painful-sounding breathing tore at something deep in his chest.

They ran ten miles, then went back to the Bunker to do weight training. It was doing Dean good, Castiel realized. The good food and fresh air and exercise.

His green eyes were brighter. A few times, when Castiel said something the Nephilim found particularly funny, Dean's mouth would twitch like he was going to smile.

He never quite did, something Castiel was strangely upset about. 

The angel tried to ignore it. Tried to ignore the tug he felt in his chest every time he saw Dean, even when the boy was sitting at a table by himself in the lunch room. As a general, Castiel was obligated to sit at a certain table, but he often wondered what it would be like to sit at the table with the kid for once. He always looked so. . . lonely.

_Why do I_ care? _It's a Nephilim. It doesn't matter._

Castiel hated that line of thinking. It made him sound like Michael.

A piece of bread smacked him in the side of the head. He turned and glared at Gabriel. "What?"

"Stop thinking so hard, Cassie," Gabriel said, his tone light. He chewed a piece of bread good-naturedly.

"Don't call me that," Castiel grumbled, looking back at the nearly-untouched dinner before him. Gabriel snorted.

"What? Grumpy because it's socially unacceptable for you to sit with that Nephilim you're so obsessed with?" Gabriel asked.

"No," Castiel said, glaring at him. "First of all, fuck society. Second, I'm not _obsessed_. I've been _assigned._ And third, I'm angry because we're fighting a war and it isn't going well."

Gabriel snorted. "Lots to think about over a bowl of tepid broth."

Castiel slammed his spoon down with a rattle that drew stares. He grabbed his piece of bread and stood. "I'm going to train."

He stalked away from the table, aware of a few eyes following as he went. As he passed the empty table where the Nephilim sat, Castiel slammed down his piece of bread next to the tray the boy was eating from.

"Meet me in Training Room 5 after dinner," Castiel growled.

"Yes, Castiel," Dean murmured. The angel growled again, this time at himself. At the ridiculous reaction he'd had just from the boy's response.

_What is_ wrong _with me?_

Castiel stalked off to the training room. It was time to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooh. . .
> 
> I'll post soon. I have some more chapters ready, and I just have to edit some more. See you all soooooon!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have some Destiel fluff for you! ;) Just like I promised.
> 
> Also, I've edited some of the story and gotten past my writer's block. I'm pretty sure I know how this story is going to pan out, but I'm always open to suggestions for fluffy situations. ;)
> 
> Enjoy!

**Thirteen**

Dean usually took a while to eat food. He'd always liked eating, and he knew to savor what food he was lucky enough to receive. The dinners at the Bunker were especially delicious, and Dean found that with all the exercising he'd been doing, his appetite had increased by a large factor.

But tonight, after the order Castiel had given him, he wolfed his food without tasting much of it. After dumping his tray and clearing up the small knapsack he used to carry his stuff around the Bunker, Dean exited the mess hall, limping a little. He'd hurt his ankle on the run today and it was still tender. 

Dean had no idea where Training Room 5 was, but he figured he could find out from _someone_ , preferably someone who either didn't mind Nephilim or didn't know he was one.

He found that person when he rounded a corner a little too fast and slammed into them.

A grunt, a thud, and Dean found himself on the floor, blinking up at a blond angel with crimson red wings.

He had _six_ wings.

_Archangel._

"S-Sorry, sir," Dean murmured, scrambling to stand. His ankle twinged, but the pain seemed to pale in comparison to the shock of slamming into an actual archangel. The angel frowned at him for a second.

"I know you," the archangel said, eyes narrowing. For a moment, Dean wondered if he was going to be smited right then and there. Then the angel's face cleared to a cool neutrality. "Oh. You're that Nephilim my brother is stuck with."

_Brother. Red wings. Archangel. This must be Lucifer._

_The Morningstar. The Fallen Angel._

Dean swallowed thickly. "Sorry, sir," he repeated.

"Just. . . watch where you're going," Lucifer said. His tone, though brisk, wasn't cruel or angry. He just sounded tired. Without another word, Lucifer continued down the hall.

For a moment, the question teetered on the edge of Dean's tongue.

"Wait! Sir, please, where is Training Room 5?" Dean called. He slammed his mouth shut as soon as the words left his lips, wondering how stupid he could possibly be. How many etiquette rules had he just broken?

But Lucifer turned. Again, he didn't seem angry. This time he almost sounded amused. "You're heading straight for it. Just keep going. You'll find it at the end of the hallway."

"Th-Thank you, sir," Dean stammered.

Lucifer nodded at him and continued on his way to dinner.

Face burning with embarrassment, Dean shoved himself up off the floor and headed down the hallway. 

Indeed, he found Training Room 5 at the end of the hall, just like Lucifer had said. Relieved that he hadn't been trying to trick Dean, the Nephilim pushed through the heavy double doors.

Dean hoped Castiel didn't want to do any heavy training. His ankle still hurt, and he was tired. But if the angel ordered him to do something. . . Dean would do it.

Castiel was at the far end of the room, hacking at some dummies with a shining blade. When Dean tentatively neared, he stopped, panting.

His training clothes stuck to his body, showing off surprisingly lean muscle. Without all his armor, Castiel wasn't as bulky as Dean had once thought.

"You're finally here."

"Sorry, Castiel, sir. I-I. . . I ran into your brother on the way here," Dean replied, flinching into himself. Was Castiel going to punish him?

"Which one?"

Castiel's voice was tense and angry. Dean flinched even more into himself. Was he not supposed to talk to the archangels? Lucifer hadn't seemed angry. But maybe he'd known Castiel would take care of it. Would the angel just punish him, or would he tell him what he'd done wrong first?

"L-Lucifer," Dean whispered, his voice barely audible.

If he'd been any less panicked, he would have noticed Castiel's posture relaxing with relief. He would have seen the sudden worried look the angel gave Dean, as if just realizing that the half-human had dropped to his knees before him.

"Dean?"

Dean didn't register the voice, softer and more worried than it had ever been. He didn't register when the angel said it again, either. Or when the angel knelt in front of him, worry rolling off him in waves.

"Dean," Castiel said quietly, looking down at the little Nephilim on the floor.

Dean had fallen to his knees, bowed his head, submitted to Castiel and accepted whatever Castiel was going to do to him. It. . . scared the angel, triggered something in his very core.

_This is not right._

Dean kept his head down, trying to stay small and unnoticeable.

_But I don't know what he likes! Does he want me to beg? Stay quiet? What do I do? What-_

Dean didn't realize he'd been crying until a hand touched his cheek and he made a choked-off sobbing noise, a hiccup of fear.

_He's going to kill me._

"Dean, please."

No, that couldn't be. . . The tone was wrong. The voice, like the touch, was gentle and comforting.

Suddenly, Dean knew exactly who the voice belonged to. The knowledge that this powerful angel warrior was the same person as his nighttime savior was enough to shock him out of whatever mindset he'd been in.

He jerked, staring up at Castiel with wide, fearful eyes.

"Dean, please," Castiel repeated, his voice changing from pleading to gently authoritative. "You're alright. I'm not angry."

The Nephilim breathed out a soft whimper of fear. "I'm s-sorry," he rasped. "Please, I'm s-sor-"

"Shh, you don't have to apologize, sweetheart," Castiel murmured. The pet name soothed Dean's fears, calmed his pounding heartbeat and panicked gasping. _Sweetheart_. The person who had saved Dean from the Dark had called Dean sweetheart too.

They must have been the same person. Because Anubis smelled like the forest, like wind and wild places. Castiel smelled different, like a storm building on the horizon.

If the angel had been the one to save him that night, why did he act like he did toward Dean? Did he truly hate Nephilim? But why had he saved Dean in the first place, if he had known Dean was Nephilim anyway?

Dean was confused, the long day and recent emotional rollercoaster causing his head to spin. Castiel seemed to notice this, his already gentle expression softening even more.

Dean felt an arm slide behind his bent knees. With a soft push of breath, Castiel lifted Dean off the ground. The Nephilim yelped a little, the feeling of being carried not one he was used to. But the angel began to walk, his movements swaying and gentle. It soothed Dean into a soft, comfortable headspace. He felt like he was floating, like he was wrapped in a bubble of warmth and safety and no one could touch him. Not the Dark. Not even Alastair or Azazel.

It seemed to be only a second and forever when they reached Dean's room. Castiel entered without dropping Dean, like the boy had expected. Instead, he gently sat him on the bed and began to pull the various bits of training gear off of his body. Dean allowed him, still wrapped in his fuzzy bubble of safety, letting the angel pull of his shirt and untie his shoes.

When Dean wore only pants, Castiel maneuvered him into lying down on the soft bed. He pulled the covers up, the tenderness of the action making Dean want to cry.

"Cas-"

"Shh, sweetheart. Get some sleep. Tomorrow, we can take an easy day. I'll show you somewhere I think you'll like," Castiel whispered. "For now, rest." 

As if Dean's body had just been waiting for that command, the boy's eyes drifted shut and he made a contented humming noise in his throat.

Vaguely, Dean was aware that he had grabbed Castiel's hand, the angel's skin a pleasurable tingle against Dean's own. "Stay," he murmured.

"I won't leave you," Castiel replied.

With that promise, Dean drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww. . .
> 
> Now if only Castiel could act like that all the time. . .
> 
> I'll see you all soon. I have an all-nighter full of studying to do. See you soon!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everybody!
> 
> I enjoyed your comments. You people are amazing.
> 
> Have some Destiel fluff. ;)

**Fourteen**

Angels didn't technically need sleep.

Dean's room was interesting. The bed on the far wall occupied only a corner of it. Another corner was taken up by a desk and a bookshelf, probably as a result of the room being the former quarters of some long-ago general.

It was at this desk that Castiel positioned himself, knowing there was no need to mimic the thing humans called 'sleep' tonight. Sometimes he did, just to give his brain a rest, but most of the time he stayed up and made battle plans.

Tonight, though, he focused on the Nephilim sleeping in the bed on the other side of the room.

Dean was calm when he slept. Beautiful, even, though Castiel would never admit that. In the soft light of the room (Castiel remembered the incident in the infirmary and kept the desk light on), Dean's features seemed smoother and more innocent. His long, thick lashes lay spread across his freckled cheeks, his sweet green eyes closed. The worry lines and pain in his eyes were smoothed over by the soft touch of sleep, his body relaxed and comfortable in the bed.

Castiel longed to go to the bed, lay down next to the boy, wrap his wings around him and tuck his face into his neck. It would cross many lines, he knew. Lines that couldn't be uncrossed.

_Would that really be so bad? He'd be mine._

Castiel shuddered at that thought, then tried desperately to ignore the little voice in the back of his head that whispered, _He will always be yours._

Castiel quickly summoned other thoughts. He couldn't afford to leave the room to take a cold shower.

He'd promised to take Dean somewhere tomorrow, and he intended to. It was a place that always calmed him, and as long as the Nephilim wasn't afraid of heights, he thought Dean would enjoy it.

Sighing, Castiel got up. There was a small room off of Dean's, one where he could listen in case the boy woke up, but also speak with someone in private.

He called Lucifer to said room and waited until the devil arrived.

"What, Cassie?" Lucifer asked as he appeared with a flap of his crimson wings. He looked grumpy, like Castiel had interrupted something.

"Did I interrupt your dinner or sleep?" Castiel asked.

"Actually, I was just about to get laid by-"

"Never mind, I don't want to know," Castiel interrupted. 

Lucifer glared at him, an eyebrow rising. "What do you want?"

"I'm taking the Nephilim on a training run tomorrow," Castiel replied. "I need you to cover for me in that meeting at noon."

Lucifer's grumpy look transformed into a sly smile. "Does this training run happen to lead to a certain cliff face?" he asked.

Castiel's face heated. He knew he was blushing, turning bright red like a fifteen year old girl. "Yes. I'll be gone all day," he said.

"And all night?" Lucifer asked, winking.

"No! It's. . . It's not like that," Castiel protested.

"Sure. And you're totally not courting him," Lucifer agreed.

"I'm _not_ ," Castiel said, wondering why he'd ever thought to talk to his brother. Then again, it wasn't like Gabriel was any better, and he needed to get out of that meeting tomorrow.

"Sure," Lucifer said knowingly. "Just like showing your future mate your favorite places isn't courting."

Castiel growled low in his throat. Lucifer held up his hands in surrender. 

"Will you?" the angel asked. His archangel brother snorted.

"Yes, Cassie. I've been waiting for you to get out of your room and get laid for a while now. As long as you don't get too in over your head, it's fine," Lucifer said.

Castiel relaxed, ignoring the comment at the beginning of Lucifer's words. "Thank you, Luci."

"Of course. Now can I go? I have a date," Lucifer said, winking. 

Castiel made a face. "Yes, go. I don't want the details."

Lucifer chuckled, his wings rising in the small room. "That's what Gabriel is for."

With a flash of light, he had disappeared.

Castiel sighed and left the small room, letting himself back into Dean's. The human was still asleep, his face peaceful in the dim light from the lamp.

Castiel sat back down at the desk to wait out the night.

When Dean woke the next morning, there was a flash of heartbreaking sadness on his face as he realized he was alone. Then he noticed Castiel and his sadness morphed into careful curiosity.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel said. The human swallowed audibly in the silence.

"Hello, Castiel."

Castiel stood awkwardly, struggling to push away Lucifer's words and the rising excitement in his chest. "Get dressed in training clothes. Meet me outside when you're done."

Dean nodded, looking almost relieved to be given orders he could follow.

Castiel waited outside the room. After a few minutes of shuffling, Dean exited wearing his training uniform. Castiel was pleased to see that it didn't look quite so large on him as before. In fact, Dean's cheeks were beginning to fill out. He looked healthier, and his skin had taken on a golden tone from all the running outdoors.

"Follow me," Castiel ordered.

Dean obeyed, trailing behind him through the halls of the Bunker. They took a well-worn path to one of the exit doors. Castiel left the mountain base, not bothering to check if Dean was following.

"We're going to the top of the mountain," Castiel informed Dean.

The Nephilim paled. 

The run to the top of the mountain was long. It wasn't their longest run, but it was still ten miles up a nearly forty-five degree incline. Their legs would be burning by the time they reached the top.

Castiel waited, expecting a protest or an excuse, but Dean just nodded once. Castiel nearly smiled, remembering that Dean was so unlike many of the soldiers that the angel was used to commanding. The little Nephilim made no excuses, never complained, and enthusiastically gave his all to whatever task Castiel gave him.

He bounced a little on his toes. Castiel gave him a nod, and they began to run.

The morning was warm and sunny. This far up the mountains, it was almost always sunny. The rocky ground was hard and dry after a week without rainfall.

They made good time up the mountainside, partially because Dean hadn't eaten anything to vomit up. Also, the little half-human was gaining strength. He no longer required stops for rest on their shorter runs, and he could begin to keep up with Castiel's pace.

It was halfway up the mountain that disaster struck.

Castiel had been noticing Dean lagging behind, and he had just been about to suggest a rest when the little Nephilim fell to his knees with a cry of pain.

"Dean!"

The panic that surged through Castiel was surreal. He sprinted back ten yards and knelt at the half-human's side, wings appearing of their own accord. They flared with panic, black feathers ruffled and reflecting sun in the early morning light.

Dean was crying.

His breath was coming in soft sniffle-sobs, his head down. Castiel frowned, searching for the problem. "Dean? Dean, what the hell happened?"

"'M s-sorry, Cas-"

"Wha-No, what's the matter? Are you hurt?" Castiel demanded.

It was then that he saw that Dean was clutching his ankle. It was swollen and nearly purple, twisted at a slightly strange angle.

Castiel suddenly felt like vomiting himself. He swallowed thickly.

"Dean, when did this happen?"

"J-Just now, sir," Dean sniffled. "It w-was hurting last night. Please, sir, I didn't mean to, I'm sorry. I'll be good, please sir-"

Realizing that the little Nephilim thought he was going to be punished, Castiel lowered his wings, making himself as small and nonthreatening as possible. 

"Shh, it's alright, Dean," Castiel soothed, struggling to remember what had calmed Dean the night before. "Sweetheart, please. You're alright. Please, sweetheart, calm down. You're going to make yourself pass out."

Dean was still sniffling and sobbing, so Castiel reached for his ankle, trying to at least loosen his grip. That turned out to be the wrong move.

With a sob of fear, Dean shoved himself violently away from Castiel, nearly throwing himself off the edge of the narrow mountain trail they were crouched on.

Realizing what an enormous drop waited on the other side, Castiel put his hands up non-threateningly.

"Please," Dean whispered, his green eyes wide and not quite seeing Castiel.

The angel swallowed. "What do you need, sweetheart?"

"Hurts," Dean sniffled.

"Yes, I know, Dean. Please let me help, sweetheart. I can take the pain away," Castiel promised, seeing the way Dean was still putting pressure on his surely-broken ankle.

Dean sniffled again, looking at Castiel in a way that made the angel's heart shatter. He held his hand out, careful to keep his movements slow.

With a sob, Dean bypassed Castiel's outstretched hand and threw himself into the angel's chest. Castiel grunted, wrapping his arms around Dean's shaking body.

He sat back, supporting both their weights. Dean was still shaking and crying, so Castiel ran a tentative hand through his hair. When the touch seemed to soothe the little Nephilim, Castiel continued doing it.

Dean melted into the gentle touch, his body molding itself against Castiel's. The angel kissed the top of his head without really thinking, rocking their bodies gently side to side.

When Dean seemed to have calmed down, Castiel pulled away slightly.

"What was that about, sweetheart?" he asked.

"S-Sorry, Cas," Dean sniffled. Castiel heard the nickname and ignored it, at least at that moment. He frowned.

"Don't be sorry. But sweetheart, what happened? You said your ankle was hurting last night. . . Why did you go on a run with me this morning?"

"You wanted to," Dean sniffled.

"I would have called it off if I'd known you were hurt," Castiel said. "You should have told me."

"Sorry, Cas," Dean whispered.

"Tell me next time," Castiel pleaded. "Please, sweetheart."

"Okay," Dean said quietly.

"Can I see?"

Dean nodded, shifting a little. Castiel stilled him with a gentle hand and moved the human's knees up so he was sitting next to Castiel, his knees over the angel's lap. Castiel inspected Dean's ankle, wincing at the color it had turned.

"It's broken, Dean," Castiel said, heart sinking. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry."

"Wasn't your fault," Dean said, wiping at his face. "I was being stupid."

"You were," Castiel agreed. "But it's not your fault either."

Dean sniffled and wiped the last of his tears from his face. He looked mournfully at his swollen, misshapen ankle. "You wanted to show me something. I'm sorry, Cas. I fucked it up."

Castiel shook his head, smiling suddenly. "You didn't fuck anything up, Dean. We're just going to have to find another way to get up the mountain."

Dean was silent for a second. The his eyes drifted from Castiel's face to the wings that fluttered in the warm mountain wind. His green eyes widened comically. "I. . . don't like flying."

"Afraid of heights?" Castiel asked, his voice taking on a teasing tone.

"Afraid of falling," Dean corrected.

Castiel slid his arms under Dean's knees and around his shoulders. "Don't worry, Dean," he whispered to the Nephilim, voice rough. "I won't drop you."

Dean swallowed loudly in the sudden silence on the mountainside.

Castiel grinned at him, flared his wings, and took off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. . . if you've read any of my stories before, you know that fluff means shit is about to go down. If you've already guessed that. . . well, you're right. ;)
> 
> For those of you waiting for the plot to pick up, the time has finally come. Get ready for some serious stuff in the next few chapters. I think you'll enjoy it.
> 
> See you all soon!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I promise plot? Maybe I did. But first. . .
> 
> GET READY. ARE YOU READY?
> 
> FLUFF TIME.
> 
> I promise, you're going to drown in it. ;) Enjoy.

**Fifteen**

Dean was _flying_.

He hadn't liked it when he was younger. He certainly didn't like it now.

Yelping, he threw his arms around Castiel's neck and squeezed with all his might, terror flooding his veins.

They stopped moving, Castiel's wings beating the air around them. When Dean peeked an eye out, he saw they were hovering hundreds of feet above the ground at the base of the mountain.

"No thank you," he squeaked.

Castiel laughed, his throat vibrating against Dean's nose. "It's alright, Nephilim. I'll keep you safe," he said. Dean swallowed, shaking his head.

"Nope. No thank you. Ground, please."

Castiel laughed, his voice softer and deeper. "How will we get up the mountain, then?"

"We'll walk," Dean said, his voice still an octave higher with panic.

"With your ankle? I don't think so," Castiel said. "We're going to have to fly."

"If you fly, you might drop me," Dean insisted. "We're going to crash."

"You don't trust me?"

"I don't trust a lot of things," Dean squeaked. 

"You'll be fine. Tell me what your favorite color is," Castiel said. They still hadn't moved, just stayed hovering in the air hundreds of feet above the ground.

"You're insane," Dean choked out.

"Color," Castiel insisted.

"I-It's blue," Dean said, eyes shut tight. He was sure if he saw the ground now, he would throw up.

"What kind of blue?" Castiel sounded genuinely curious.

"O-Ocean blue. The color it turns when the w-water is really deep and there's a thunderstorm brewing," Dean said, his heart calming slightly. "My dad used to take Sammy and me on fishing trips. We got caught in a storm once. He said we nearly died, but I thought the ocean was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen."

"That's wonderful, Dean." Suddenly, Castiel's body jerked lightly. There was a ruffling of wings. Dean peeked out and realized they were standing on flat ground once more. He looked up at the angel with wide, disbelieving eyes. Castiel looked at him with pure adoration and pride in his eyes. "You did so well."

The praise made Dean flush. "You distracted me," he breathed. It was meant to sound accusatory, but the tone was drowned in the awe in his voice.

"That I did," Castiel replied. He grinned at Dean, skin crinkling at the edges of his eyes.

"You sly bastard," Dean pushed out, laughing slightly. He blinked at the look on Castiel's face.

He had gone from a grinning proudly at Dean to staring at him with utter awe and adoration on his face.

"What?" Dean asked self-consciously.

"You have a beautiful smile," Castiel breathed.

Dean realized he'd been smiling. Smiling for the first time in years. Smiling at this angel, this being who had somehow saved him and made him feel loved for the first time since Sammy.

He smiled again, tentatively.

Castiel grinned, his eyes soft. "My favorite color is green," he whispered, his words nearly lost in the wind off the mountain face. "The color of sunlight through ivy leaves after a rainstorm."

Dean swallowed thickly, looking into the angel's eyes. Their faces were close, their breaths mingling together. Castiel's nose was inches from Dean's, his tousled black hair ruffling in the wind.

"Come, I want to show you something," Castiel said, looking up. "You'll like it, I think."

Dean watched as his great black wings folded. He shifted Dean in his arms and the Nephilim winced. "Am I heavy, Cas?"

"No," the angel said simply.

He began to walk, his feet crunching through the dirt and gravel at the top of the mountain.

It was relatively flat, like a tabletop. The area couldn't have been more than fifty square yards.

Castiel was heading for the edge.

Dean swallowed, realizing he still had his arms around the angel's neck. He was tempted to release him, but he didn't know what else to do with his arms, and-

They reached the edge, and Dean gasped.

All thoughts of releasing the angel fled as the Nephilim grabbed on tighter.

They were standing at the edge of a massive cliff.

The wall of jagged rock fell all the way down to a roaring, churning ocean below. The wind off the water whipped it into whitecaps, the frothing foam nearly five hundred feet below.

"That's steep," Dean breathed.

Castiel chuckled. "Do you like it?"

"Yes," Dean decided, looking outward. The water stretched away to the far-off horizon, not a speck of land in sight save for the mountain they stood on and the mainland spread behind them. "It's. . . beautiful."

Castiel smiled down at him. "One of my favorite places."

Dean yelped as the angel made to sit down. He placed Dean beside him, dangling his legs over the edge.

"You won't fall, Dean," Castiel reassured. He smiled at the Nephilim. "And if you do, I'll catch you." 

Dean smacked him on the arm, momentarily forgetting any fear of being punished. "You sap."

Castiel laughed, the sound happy and bright on the wild wind.

Dean found himself joining in soon after, his laughter ringing true for the first time in years.

They stayed up on the top of the mountain until dark.

When night had fallen and the silver moon was casting its light on the water far below, Castiel picked Dean up and carried him back down to the base. Dean clung to him the entire time, refusing to look down until they'd safely reached the ground.

That made Castiel laugh. Dean didn't have the heart to tell him that he wasn't afraid of heights. Not anymore, at least. He'd just enjoyed the feeling of the angel so close to him.

They had missed dinner, but Castiel managed to charm a cook into giving him a full plate of the stew from dinner, as well as a slice of pie. He brought it to Dean, who'd been admitted to the infirmary with a broken ankle.

"Pie is my favorite," Dean told Cas. The angel grinned delightedly at him.

"Wonderful. What kind?"

"Apple. But all pie is good, too," Dean said, taking an enthusiastic bite. Castiel grinned at him.

They talked until the nurses kicked Castiel out. Dean laid back on his pillows as the lights went out, happy. He stared into the dim glow of the light at his bedside, wondering how his day could have turned around so quickly.

It had started off all wrong, with him waking up sort of alone and disoriented. Then his ankle had hurt, _really_ hurt, and he'd been terrified that Castiel was going to hurt him on that mountain pass.

But the angel had been gentle, kind even. And. . . _And he doesn't hate me._

_He can't. Not after today. That isn't how you treat someone you hate,_ Dean realized. No, there was no way Castiel hated him. At least, not Dean.

He couldn't, because if he hated Dean, he wouldn't have been so gentle today. He wouldn't have held him while he cried and carried him to the top of the mountain and sat with him while they watched the ocean.

And Castiel couldn't hate Dean, _couldn't_ , because if he did. . .

If he did. . .

The Nephilim knew he wouldn't be able to take it. He wouldn't be able to handle it, because he _liked_ Castiel. He liked him a lot.

And that single thought alone was enough to keep him awake all night long. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, that was totally an indulgence. I literally had almost no reason to write that, but I needed a break from studying, and here we are. Oh, well. What can I say?
> 
> Besides, it's the last fluff you'll get for a while. . .
> 
> :)
> 
> Bye for now. . .


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone!
> 
> Sorry this took so long to post! I usually don't go a day without posting, but finals and sports have been crazy lately.
> 
> Anyway, I'm here now. Not much Dean in this chapter, unfortunately, but there's some important insights on the war. This fic doesn't have as much fluff as my usual ones, which I personally don't love. However, I know some people like a good story, so I hope this suffices.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Sixteen**

Humans, even with a little angel blood, healed incredibly slow.

This was the unfortunate truth Castiel had to reckon with as he sat by Dean's bed, listening to the human doctor drone about leg plates and bone fractures.

"I could have healed you in a split second," Castiel said mournfully after he was gone. "My grace doesn't work on Nephilim."

"It's okay, Cas," Dean replied, shaking his head. "There was nothing you could have done. Besides, once they put that fancy cast on, I'll be good to go."

The angel sighed and nodded, checking the time. It was almost time for lunch, and for the meeting he had with Michael, Lucifer, and Gabriel.

"I have to go soon," Castiel told Dean. The Nephilim's face fell, but he nodded. "I'll see you after this meeting."

"Okay. See you later, Cas," Dean replied.

Castiel smiled warmly at him and stood, going to leave the infirmary. He didn't know when it had started, but Dean's nickname for him always left a warm feeling in the pit of the angel's stomach.

That warm feeling quickly dissolved as he entered the war room. Michael and Lucifer were shouting at each other, like always. But it was Gabriel's face that made Castiel stop.

The usually amused or laughing trickster was watching the back wall solemnly, as if it had a declaration of death written upon it. Castiel edged into a seat beside him, waiting for his brothers to finish arguing. As he listened, the reason became apparent.

"-dumb plan anyway! For Father's sake, Michael, how fucking stupid can you be?" Lucifer roared.

"Speak with respect to me, Lucifer! And the plan had just as much potential as any of the plans your precious general creates!" Michael snarled back.

"Yes!" Lucifer shrieked, his eyes glinting red. "Yes, it did! Only the problem wasn't my _general_ , the problem was that he was tasked with taking down the _entire Central Cave_ with the _Fourth Division!_ You couldn't take out the Central Cave with the Eighth, the Tenth, _and_ the Second, Michael! It's a nest! And you sent a single general and a band of ragtag dumbasses who can hardly tell which foot their boot matches."

"I have told you repeatedly-"

"Could you two _shut the fuck up?_ Cassie is here," Gabriel said. Lucifer and Michael paused, looking at Castiel.

"Oh, good. We can begin," Michael muttered.

"Oh, joy," Lucifer snarled under his breath.

"Can someone tell me what is going on?" Castiel sighed. "Why are you both so wound up? I mean, more so than usual?"

Lucifer deflated, suddenly quiet and almost. . . sad. Michael sighed and ran a hand over his face.

"The mission to the Central Cave failed. We got a letter from Anubis last night," the archangel said. "He'd sent it straight from the front line. Said that it wasn't looking good. They got the help of some of the local angels, but around the Central Cave, there isn't much population anyway." 

"Are they dead?" Castiel asked.

"By now, probably," Lucifer replied, glaring resentfully at Michael. "And it's all _your_ fault."

Michael sighed, not arguing for once. He just looked sadly at Castiel and Gabriel.

"So why are we here? What is there to discuss?" Gabriel asked. Castiel already knew. He almost groaned aloud.

Michael's piercing eyes landed on him. "We're here to discuss the Nephilim."

"He's not ready," Castiel said.

"You keep saying that. What do you mean by 'not ready'?" Michael demanded.

Castiel sighed, looking at his hands. He hated to degrade Dean in any way, but he knew it would probably help the Nephilim in this situation.

"He can't even make a run up the mountain. His strength is average at best, and his speed is hindered by the fact that he's been kept in a cell for the better part of his life. He's willing to work, yes, but it will take time. And I haven't seen a hint of angelic abilities out of him yet," Castiel reported tiredly.

"Perhaps you haven't been training him right," Michael suggested.

Castiel gritted his teeth. "It isn't my _training_ , Michael, it's the fact that he was tortured by demons for ten years. You need to understand that these things take time."

Lucifer growled. "We don't _have_ time, Cassie. I understand your Nephilim friend isn't exactly feeling great, but neither were the Fourth, and they're dead now. Is there anything you can do to speed up the process?"

Castiel sighed, thinking for a second. Dean's safety came first, that was a _must_ -

"We could scare him," Michael mused. Castiel's head snapped up and he glared at his brother.

"What?"

"We could scare him," Michael repeated. There was something cold and cruel in his eyes. "Remember when Anubis first came here and we weren't sure he was half? We sent him up against a patrol of demons and he proved his worth just fine."

Lucifer snarled. "You nearly killed him, and he nearly killed himself later when he was having a panic attack. Your methods are fucking idiotic, Michael."

Michael glared at Lucifer, warning him with his eyes. "Then what do you suggest, Lucifer?"

Castiel turned to his brother, wondering the same thing. Lucifer sighed, looking at Castiel guiltily. "The safety of our troops is more important than the safety of one, Cassie. I think we should. . . at least try to work it along. Maybe focus your training on his possible powers more? I don't think we should go to something as drastic as Michael's plan. Not. . . not yet."

Castiel glared at his brother, but nodded reluctantly. What Lucifer said was right, but that didn't mean Castiel liked it. 

Still. Dean wasn't a tool, a mindless piece of equipment to be used. He was a living being, one with his own fears and doubts, reservations and opinions.

"I think we should ask Dean," Castiel blurted.

His three brothers looked sharply at him.

"His name is Dean?" Gabriel asked.

"Ask him? Where is he?" Lucifer pondered.

"Absolutely not," Michael cut in. "We're not asking that _thing_ for its opinion. It has none, in this situation."

Rage, hot and fierce, flooded Castiel's veins. He gritted his teeth. "You're talking about using him as an instrument of war, not an asset. He's a living being, Michael."

"It's at our mercy," Michael countered, smiling coldly at Castiel. "It depends on us to survive. If we allowed it, most of the angels in this facility would want it dead and would do the things necessary to ensure that it doesn't breathe again. We're its protection, its salvation. It cannot deny us this."

"You sound just like the demons you're trying so hard to defeat," Castiel snarled.

Michael slammed his hands down on the table. "Do not compare me to Azazel or Alastair! My methods are nowhere near theirs, and you know it! I will not handle this disrespect any longer!"

"This is a Father-damned fucking democracy, Michael, not a dictatorship!" Lucifer roared back. 

"I can make it a fucking dictatorship if I want to!"

The words rang out in the sudden silence of the room.

Gabriel was staring at them all, shocked. Lucifer looked angry, his eyes glowing red. Castiel's wings had appeared, rising behind him to meet the glowing white ones Michael was sporting.

It had been an unspoken thing for a while. That they all reported to Michael, because he was the strongest, the best, the most powerful.

"The Nephilim will be ready for war when the Fourth and Lucifer's precious general return," Michael finally said. "There will be no argument."

"Michael-"

" _Lord_ Michael, Castiel. And if he refuses, he'll be meeting the demons in chains as an incentive to surrender. I expect him to be ready," Michael said, his eyes glowing faintly with power, their light hinting at the vast reserves the archangel possessed. "Anything less would be treason."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? I was sort of struggling with the clashing characters. I know Gabriel isn't his usual annoying, hilarious self, but he's also received bad news and I hope that was enough to cover the fact that I have a compete lack of humor and cannot write a character which doesn't. :)
> 
> See you all soon!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, I am SO SORRY. I've been caught up with finals and sports, and I haven't posted in what feels like forever. I hate when authors make me wait, and I'm sorry for doing that to you. :(
> 
> The good news is, I have another chapter. The bad news. . . Still no fluff. Well, maybe a little, but it's not very satisfying. Sorry.
> 
> I'm still working on the next few chapters, so expect another one up tomorrow!

**Seventeen**

Dean was woken by a feeling.

He knew what it was even before he opened his eyes. Knew the creeping, crawling feeling of eyes on him. Knew what it felt like to be watched.

Still, when he opened his eyes, he didn't expect the person who was standing there. Sometimes Castiel watched over him when he was sleeping, but it wasn't Castiel's sapphire eyes that looked back at Dean when he opened his.

The archangel Michael smiled at Dean. There was no warmth in his cold eyes.

"Hello, 005."

Dean flinched at the name, remembering what Castiel and Anubis had told him about Michael before. 

"Hello, Lord Michael," he greeted quietly, ducking his head in submission. Fear was beginning to pound through his veins, and he wondered where Castiel was.

As if reading his mind, Michael chuckled. "Castiel is otherwise occupied. He has other things to be doing than tending little Nephilim."

The jab stung, but Dean forced his face to remain neutral. He waited, wondering what Michael was doing here and why.

"You must be wondering why I've decided to take a part of my precious time and give it to you," Michael said airily.

"Yes, sir," Dean murmured, wondering if Michael would beat him. The archangel had a sort of glint in his eye that told Dean he'd do anything to get what he wanted.

_But what does he want?_

Remembering how their last interaction went, Dean kept quiet.

"The war, Nephilim, is not going well," Michael said bluntly. He eyed Dean with a somewhat annoyed look, as if it were Dean's fault they were losing the war. "We are unaware of the enemy's movements, have few soldiers left that are willing to fight, and are backed against the wall of these mountains with no escape. We are the only thing standing between those demons we rescued you from, and the peaceful villages and towns on the other side of this range."

Dean shivered, keeping his eyes on the floor beneath the chair Michael had undoubtedly brought in for himself. He still didn't know how he quite played into this, but he was beginning to have a faint inkling. It scared him, more than the thought of Alastair or Azazel or even the dark.

"You don't understand, do you?" Michael asked, again seeming to eerily read Dean's mind.

"No, sir," Dean whispered.

"I want you to fight in this war," Michael said quietly. "You could be a hero, 005. You could exact revenge on the demons who tortured you. You could impress my idiot of a brother."

Dean's cheeks flushed at Michael's implication, ducking his head. "I'm no hero, sir."

"But you could be," Michael said soothingly. "You could be great, Dean. You could keep yourself safe, stop relying on people to come save you all the time. You could finally be powerful."

Dean swallowed, still trying not to meet Michael's gaze. "I. . . I'm not a hero, sir," he repeated.

Michael snarled, his calm exterior suddenly melting into one of anger and impatience. "No, you're not. You're a disgusting halfbreed who doesn't deserve to be alive," he hissed. "You're pathetic. Weak."

Dean ducked his head, not disagreeing. He knew he was pathetic and weak. He knew he was an abomination. He knew he shouldn't be even thinking of Castiel like he had been, shouldn't be talking to Michael as if he were an equal.

"I'm sorry, sir," he whispered, throat tight. Michael huffed out an annoyed, impatient breath.

"I'm offering you a chance to be great, Nephilim. A chance to stop being a leech, sucking the happiness and energy from everyone around you. I'm offering you a chance to finally be useful," he said, each word striking home in the tender spot that was Dean's heart. 

He didn't know he was crying until a tear dripped off his nose and onto his hand.

_Crying. I'm pathetic. Weak. Just like Michael said._

_But. . . I don't have to be._

"How do I help in the war, sir?" Dean asked, sounding almost as if he were begging. Michael smiled at him, something dark and cold in his gaze.

"Training. You'll have angelic powers, Dean. Possibly even more powerful than a normal angel's. You can use it against the demons," Michael said, his cold shark's smile getting wider.

"What would I be doing, sir?" Dean asked, wiping harshly at his eyes to stop the flow of tears.

Michael's smile faltered slightly, becoming even colder. "You would be eliminating threats to our soldiers. Their families will be grateful for your services," he said.

But Dean frowned, ignoring the sweet overlay to the words. "Eliminating threats? I'd be killing demons?"

Michael's smile disappeared. He frowned impatiently at Dean. "Yes. That's what we're doing in this war."

"How many?" Dean asked.

Michael gritted his teeth, suddenly in Dean's face. His nose was mere inches from the Nephilim's, his cold dark eyes angry and swallowed black by the pupils. 

"It doesn't matter _how many._ The point is that the only reason you're alive right now is because of _me._ I could _end_ your life right now if I wanted to."

Dean glared up at Michael, rebellion suddenly rising in his chest. He could feel a spark of fire, of anger, for the first time in years. He wanted to punch this asshole in the face. He wanted to blow his skull to bits from the inside.

"Fuck you," Dean growled.

Pain erupted, fiery and agonizing, on the right side of his face. Dean yelped as his entire torso was bent to the side with the power of Michael's punch.

"You speak to me with _respect_ , Nephilim. I am your savior," Michael snarled. He gripped Dean's hair tight, yanking it back so that Dean was forced to look into his cold eyes. "You _will_ kill those demons. You _will_ obey my orders. And if you don't. . . You'll find yourself right back where you started."

With a final snarl or anger, Michael released Dean's hair and straightened, brushing off his hands as if they had dirt on them.

Dean was too shocked to say anything. He sat in the bed quietly as Michael kicked the chair out of his way and stalked out of the infirmary, great white wings flared and angry.

The Nephilim realized he was shaking. He swallowed thickly, trying to regain control of his emotions.

Dean was so focused on not panicking that he didn't notice the nurse until she was dropping a letter in his lap. He jumped about a foot, sucking in a gasp of surprised breath.

"This came for you. All the way from the front lines of the Central Cave," the nurse informed Dean. Her voice was strict and professional, but she eyed him with a sort of pity that made him wonder how fast the bruise was forming on his cheek. "I'll see you for your evening meal."

Dean could only nod, still shocked from the events that had occurred before. He stared at the letter in his lap, barely registering the smear of red on the front or the gunpowder that stained the corner.

Then he noticed how it was addressed. 

_Kid_

Suddenly frantic, Dean tore open the letter and feverishly read the piece of paper that fell out.

_Kid,_

_I'm writing this to you from the front lines of battle. We're about neck-deep in shit, and it's only getting worse from here._

_I know you can't answer me. I don't want you to, because Michael will censor whatever you say, and I don't want to provoke him in any way. He's already on edge, I'm sure. Azazel and Alastair aren't here, in the Central Cave. They're somewhere else, probably plotting for revenge._

_On a happier note, the armies are far less organized now that their general is gone. That's thanks to you, kid, and it's honestly the only reason we're alive right now. Without Asmodeus to coordinate moves, their armies are weaker than usual and we were able to push past the Crystal Wall._

_W_ _e've breached the cave, but it's a nest. There's demons everywhere, and reasons to believe that they're breeding here too. I've managed to gather some help from some fellow villagers, but there aren't many and they are farmers by nature._

_We'll survive. We have for this long, after all. The conditions are miserable, but at least there's no bugs. We got rid of that problem on the first day. I've taught some of these dumbasses to make fire too, so we aren't always freezing cold and wet. Who knew it could be wet in a cave? It's underground! There's no rain or anything! But apparently, according to my soaking wet socks, it is possible for it to be wet in a cave._

_I'm ready to see the sun again. I think we all are. It's pretty dark, and there's only so long you can handle lighting your way with glow worms, crystals, and bioluminescent feces._

_Don't even ask._

_We are still alive, however, which I'm thankful for. I know you're wondering how long this will take, and I honestly have to tell you that I don't know. With the way the battle is going and the number of soldiers we have, I would have to estimate another two months._

_Can you handle that, kid? You can hang out with Castiel for two months, can't you? I've made sure to tell General Lucifer to keep an eye out for you too. I trust him completely, and I hope you do too._

_Alright. It's late. I miss you, kid, and I expect you to be able to do that cartwheel. I hope you're out of bed and healed up. Maybe when I get back I can teach you a few moves with a sword._

_I'll see you as soon as possible, kiddo._

_Stay safe,_

_Anubis_

Dean blinked, realizing he was crying. He could practically hear the words coming from Anubis's mouth, the reassuring confidence and bright smile the half-hellhound would be wearing.

He sounded confident, yes. But Dean knew that if Anubis were saying those words to him, it would be possible to detect a faint undercurrent of uncertainty too.

And fear.

There had been fear. Dean could tell. He hated that, hated the taste it left in his mouth. Anubis was worried. Scared. For his troops. For the mission. For the war they were fighting. For himself.

And Dean was scared too.

Scared that Michael was going to act on what he'd said. Scared that Castiel was only being nice, that the angel would return to his cold exterior from a few days ago.

And Dean was scared that Anubis was going to die. He'd heard whispers of it from the staff in the infirmary. The Central Cave was a nest. The Fourth Division was a ragtag group of wannabe soldiers. The mission was suicide.

Dean clutched tight to the letter long into the night, praying to a God that didn't exist that it wouldn't be the last one he received from his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I apologize for the wait on this chapter. I hope it was semi-worth it. Sorry for making it so short, too.  
> Ouch. I think I messed up big this time. Apologies, everyone.
> 
> I'll post again tomorrow. Thanks for reading! ;)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised you another chapter, didn't I? Here it is!
> 
> No fluff again. I'm sorry. :(
> 
> I did say there wouldn't be fluff for a while. . . Oops. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**Eighteen**

Dean told him he'd tripped and hit his cheek on the edge of a table.

Castiel knew the outline of knuckles when he saw them, but he didn't push the Nephilim. He wasn't sure how he would react to knowing that Castiel knew he was lying, but he was sure it wasn't good.

Instead, the angel continued his training, ignoring Michael's insistence for more focus on Dean's possible angelic abilities.

They got a rest when Michael was called away to lead a mission that would take him to the southern edge of the mountains. At the fringe of the plains, Michael wouldn't be able to give orders as well.

His leaving meant that Lucifer was in charge of the Bunker too, and the archangel seemed to be on Castiel's side with the issue regarding Dean. He mostly stayed out of their business, focusing on keeping the Bunker running and Gabriel in check.

Dean, for his part, worked hard. The exercise and training was doing him good. His cheeks were regaining color, his pale skin now a golden tan. He was muscular, too, gaining weight and shape.

Castiel was aware that the Nephilim was a handsome man. He was still young, in his twenties, and his vibrant green eyes, good looks, and bright laughter attracted more than a small crowd of men and women.

Angels, too, Castiel was noticing. They were beginning to warm up to Dean, some inviting him to sit at their tables. He no longer ate alone, and he always seemed to have a friend to say hi to in the halls when Castiel was training with him.

The angel shouldn't have been jealous. It wasn't like Dean was _his_. It wasn't like he'd laid _claim_ to him. He should be happy, if anything, that Dean was making friends.

Still, he couldn't help himself from glaring at any angels or humans that got too friendly. Dean, for his part, seemed oblivious. Castiel shuddered to think what would happen when he finally noticed that the angels that were saying hello to him didn't just want to be friends.

As summer turned to fall, the weather turned for the worst. Castiel and Dean could no longer run up to the top of the mountain to see the ocean anymore. The winds and snow became so bad, sometimes they couldn't even run at all. In those days, cooped up inside, Castiel felt his jealousy most.

Dean finally noticed when he caught Castiel glaring at a particularly friendly angel who had said hello and talked to Dean that morning, distracting the human from the drill he'd been doing.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked. As his body had recovered, so had his mind. Dean was now sporting an attitude and a sense of humor, both of which Castiel secretly adored.

"There's nothing the matter," the angel replied gruffly. "Finish your drill."

"I _am_ finished. I finished ten minutes ago," Dean insisted. He frowned at Castiel. "What's the matter, Cas?"

Castiel growled, the nickname annoying him for once instead of giving him that warm, fuzzy feeling. "I told you, nothing is the matter. Get back to work."

"We're done for today, did you forget?"

"Oh," Castiel said, glancing at the workout regimen he'd had planned. "You're right."

"Can I go now?" Dean asked, putting his sword away.

"Eager to go talk to that angel?" Castiel demanded, his emotions getting the better of him. Dean stopped, turning to face him.

"No, not particularly. Why?"

"She was distracting you today, I figured she was someone important," Castiel bit out.

Dean was frowning deeper, a line appearing between his eyebrows. Castiel had the ridiculous urge to kiss it away, but he knew that was one of the stupidest ideas he'd ever had.

"Well, she was talking to me yesterday at dinner, and she said-"

"I don't care," Castiel ground out. "Be here at dawn tomorrow."

"Why are you being such an asshole?"

A few months ago, Dean would have just agreed to Castiel's order to be in the training room at dawn and went on his way. The fact that he was fighting back was progress, but all Castiel saw it as right then was annoying.

He snarled at the Nephilim, narrowing his eyes. "Why are you complaining?"

"I'm not. But there's obviously something wrong, and you won't tell me what," Dean replied. He was getting annoyed too, Castiel could see it in the way his shoulders were tensing, preparing for an argument. They didn't have many of those, but when they did, they were bad.

Very bad.

The first argument had ended with Castiel shouting something he shouldn't have and Dean crying so hard he made himself sick. The second argument they'd had, Castiel had flown off in a rage and accidentally blown off the top of a nearby mountain. The last argument he could remember, they had been angry at each other for days and had nearly killed each other in sparring practice.

This looked like it was gearing up to be another bad one. Castiel was exhausted and he didn't really have the patience, but he was perfectly fine with getting some anger out if it meant getting these words off his chest.

"My problem is that you flirt with every single thing you meet, be it angel, human, or the roast on your plate at dinner," Castiel growled.

"What? Are you batshit crazy? I don't flirt with _anything!_ " Dean replied, his temper rising. "If anything, _you're_ the one who watches after all the angels with a stupid look on your face!"

"Only because I'm annoyed that you're so unfocused on training!" Castiel said, his voice rising.

"Unfocused? I've been nothing _but_ focused!" Dean shouted back. "I've been working my ass off so that _you_ can please your older brother and use me like a fucking piece of hardware!"

"If you're so bothered by Michael using you, then why do you train with me?" Castiel roared.

"Because I like you! I enjoy training with you because it's the only time I see you! I just want to please _you!_ "

There was a silence. Dean's words rang in the air, and Castiel thanked his Father that it was a private room that they were training in.

A jolt went through Castiel as he looked into Dean's eyes. The Nephilim was angry. Enraged, actually. His fists were clenched at his sides, his teeth bared.

"I'll train by myself, if you can't handle me," Dean snarled finally. "I don't know what I've done to you, Castiel. Everyone else likes me. Everyone but you."

With that, he stormed past Castiel and into the locker room.

The angel general allowed him past, shocked to the core.

Not by the words. Not by the anger, the show of personality. Not by the fact that Dean had finally stood up for himself. Not even by the stinging words they had exchanged.

No. Castiel was shocked because of what he'd seen when he'd looked into Dean's eyes.

Anger, yes. Hurt. Confusion.

But in Dean's eyes. . .

Replacing the green of the iris and the black of the pupil, there had only been glowing silver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh.
> 
> They had another argument, it's fine. Common for newly-weds to argue.
> 
> Just kidding. I wish. ANYWAY, yeah.
> 
> I would like to give a shoutout to a few of my readers. Taedyn, thank you for your support and kindness. Your comments make my day, and you always give me a boost of confidence! angels_rdvd64, I love your insights and I appreciate your continued support. Pilot, you always make me laugh. And of course, thank you to Steelcode for giving me this idea in the first place. ;)
> 
> And thank you to the rest of you amazing readers who support me and make me feel loved! I love each and every one of you!
> 
> See you all soon!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
> I have another chapter for you. It's nice and long.
> 
> Not a lot of Cas, but. . . You'll get to meet someone. I sincerely hope you like her.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Nineteen**

Dean wanted to throw something. He wanted to break the sword he had just put away in half. He wanted to run back out there and scream and punch Castiel in the face.

Instead, he bypassed the Bunker doors and went for a run.

In the cold. In the snow.

Was it a blizzard? Technically yes, if Dean could barely see five feet in front of him.

He ran, breath pluming before his face, the air icy shards in his lungs. He was angry, upset that Castiel couldn't see and understand that Dean wasn't interested in anyone else.

Only him.

The one angel who he couldn't have.

Well, one of a few. Michael was also probably unattainable, but the idea of being romantically involved with the archangel made Dean want to vomit.

But speaking of Michael. . . the general was due back in the morning.

The thought made Dean even angrier. He hated Michael and his overbearing personality, his ridiculous orders, his effect on Castiel.

He hated Michael, and he hated Cas too. Right now, Dean hated everyone.

He continued running, following a familiar path. He knew it was dangerous, knew he would probably be reprimanded later, but at least Castiel would feel worried, if even for a little bit.

Maybe. Or maybe Cas wouldn't care.

Probably not. Dean had been awful to him.

He ran harder, struggling to forget how badly he'd fucked up in the icy wind and the burn of his muscles.

Dean knew he'd fucked up worse a split second before he slipped.

He could feel how his foot hit an icy patch. He could feel the change from solid, rocky ground to slippery ice.

His foot went sideways, and he went with it.

There was a moment of weightlessness, of pure and utter terror.

Then Dean was slamming into rock, his head smacking painfully against the side of the mountain. He was falling, falling down the side, and there was no way he could stop himself.

Darkness and snow whirled past. Cold rocks and gritty dirt bit into Dean's skin, and he slammed into rocks with a speed that could break his bones. He scrabbled at the mountainside, but more often than not, he split his skin and smacked his hands on hard rock.

Darkness, wind, snow, rocks, pain.

Dean cried out as he slammed to a stop, latching onto a few rocks with his hands and desperately holding there, muscles tight and shuddering. He had no idea where he was, no idea how far down the mountain he'd fallen. All he knew was that he had stopped, finally, and that his left ankle was definitely broken again. 

In fact, judging by the way it was difficult to breathe without seeing sharp spots of pain, Dean could bet some of his ribs were broken too. Broken, or at least bruised.

He could feel a warm wetness spreading down his cheek. He must have hit his head. A spell of dizziness smacked Dean in the face and he clutched the rocks, terrified that if he let go, he would die.

Dean sobbed in fear and pain, his fingers numbing quickly in the snow they were buried in. He gripped harder on the rocks, knowing that if he released them, there was no telling how far he'd fall.

Dean shut his eyes tight, the darkness pressing in on him. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The freezing cold was setting in, and Dean knew that if he panicked, he would die.

His fingers were completely numb now, his body shivering violently in the bitter cold. Snow continued to swirl, barely visible in the pitch darkness. Dean felt like vomiting, felt like screaming, his throat and chest too tight. It hurt to breathe, hurt to think, he was so _fucking scared-_

"Shh, little Nephilim. You're alright now," a voice murmured.

Dean tensed, nearly releasing his hold on the mountain and slipping. As if the thought had caused it, Dean's fingers slid in the rocks he was grasping. He whimpered in fear.

Something soft, yet coarse, brushed past his upper arms where they were extended above his head.

"You're alright, little Nephilim. There is a ledge below you. If you drop slowly, you'll be safe."

Dean sobbed a little, clutching on tighter to the rocks. Who was this person? Could he trust them?

The voice was feminine, Dean knew that. Lilting and sweet, with a faint accent he knew but couldn't place. The words were gentle and soothing.

_I can't trust them I can't I'll die I'm going to die I'm going to fall I need Cas-_

_Cas I need Cas Cas-_

"If you panic and fall too fast, you'll slide down the mountain," the feminine voice whispered again, somehow reaching Dean's ears through the howling wind. "You must slide slowly, release your grip gradually. Trust me, little Nephilim. I will not let you fall."

The thing brushed past him again, this time swishing by the right side of his face. It was fur, Dean realized. The thing brushing against his face had a pelt.

"Nephilim, your strength is fading fast. You will lose consciousness soon. If you release your grip now, while you are in control, I will be able to help you land on the ledge. But if you lose consciousness before you can get to the ledge, I won't be able to save you."

"P-P-Please," Dean sobbed, teeth chattering. "Who are y-you?"

"Someone you can trust. You must drop now, Nephilim. Your body temperature is descending rapidly."

It was true. Dean could feel his control slipping, his eyes drooping closed.

What did he have to lose? So what if there was really no ledge? He was going to fall and die anyway.

Dean tried to release his grip, tried to move his fingers in any way. He couldn't feel them.

The Nephilim sobbed a little in desperation and fear. "I c-c-can't!"

"You _must_. Now, Nephilim." The feminine voice was harshly insistent, the soothing, comforting tone drowned in urgency and a faint undercurrent of fear.

"P-Please, my fingers-"

"I will help you. No matter what you feel, release your grip slowly. You must trust me," the voice demanded.

"O-Okay," Dean breathed.

He jerked as something coarse and furry brushed against the back of his neck. Something cold and wet, a _nose_ , he realized, was pressing into the skin.

Dean focused on his hands, willing the blood that was draining from his arms to go back to his fingers.

It was no use. He couldn't feel them.

"C-Can't feel my f-fingers," he chattered.

There was a jerk as gravity finally tipped the balances. Rocks began to slide. Dean whimpered as the rocks underneath him began to shift downward.

The creature growled lowly in warning and fear.

Dean was suddenly sent skidding down the mountain. There was a sound of fabric tearing, then a snarl that Dean was _sure_ he'd heard before.

He scrabbled at the rocks, pure fear and adrenaline keeping him from passing out. The creature skidded with him, their weight somehow slowing him down and sending rocks cascading over his head.

They skidded down the mountain, going, going-

Dean cried out in agony as his feet met the ledge. His broken ankle buckled and he nearly toppled over the edge, but the creature's teeth dug in to the collar of his training jacket. Fabric groaned, the creature snarled, rocks skidded. For a moment, hot, damp puffs of air skated across the back of Dean's neck.

The creature won the battle with gravity, yanking Dean back against the rocky mountainside. He fell flat on solid ground, sobbing at the victory of not falling and the pain of his ankle.

The creature was panting, sounding a bit like a dog. "Well done, Nephilim. You must follow me now. My cave is not far, but your are gravely injured and losing warmth fast."

Dean choked back a sob at the idea of moving at all. He was perfectly fine, nice and comfortable in the snow-

That cold nose shoved at his side and he yelped as his injured ribs shifted.

"Please, Nephilim. I can keep you until your angel comes for you, but you will not survive the storm without warmth. Come."

Dean yelped in pain, unable to fight the whimpers and groans that leaped from his throat as he shoved himself up. He began to crawl in the direction of the voice, blind and unable to tell if the ledge was right in front of him or not. All he could see was darkness and swirling snow.

They must have gone for miles like that, Dean dragging himself through the snow behind the voice, who was always just in front of him. It murmured kind praises and gentle encouragements, always right in front of Dean.

Finally, the voice told him to stop. Dean collapsed in the snow, exhausted.

"The entrance is here. I cannot carry you, Nephilim. It's to your right."

Dean swallowed, once again wondering if he was going right off the edge of the cliff. The snow had thickened, howling around him. 

"Trust me, Nephilim."

Dean closed his eyes and fell to the side.

His body, instead of meeting rock or empty air, fell through a sort of lichen curtain covered in snow. He tumbled down a small incline and rolled to a stop beside a roaring fire.

The lichen shifted back into place.

"Well done, Nephilim."

Dean yelped. The voice was right in his ear, but he couldn't see, couldn't find where it had come from. . . The cave was empty.

There was a rippling in the air beside him. Dean started in surprise as a young woman appeared a little to his left.

She was beautiful. Long dark hair gleamed in the firelight, and molten gold eyes seemed to glow like a sunrise was trapped within the irises. Her elegant cheekbones accentuated the almond eyes that were crinkled with a tentative smile.

"Hello, Nephilim."

"Who. . .?" Dean choked out.

"Half-hellhound," the woman explained, smiling a little wider. "Hellhounds are invisible to humans. But you can see my mortal form."

Dean started, realizing that he had heard her faint accent in Anubis too. She turned, rummaging around in the back of the cave. When she returned, it was with a thick blanket, which she laid across Dean's shivering body.

"We need to warm you up. Then we'll talk," she promised.

Dean managed a nod, closing his eyes in bliss as his body began to warm.

With warmth, however, came feeling. Dean groaned as all the aches and pains in his body returned slowly.

The woman returned, a bowl of steaming water and a cloth in her hands. She knelt beside him, gently cleaning the gash on his head.

"How did you fall, Nephilim? What were you even doing out in this weather?" she asked, her musical voice lightly scolding.

"J-Jogging," Dean chattered. She laughed at his answer.

"Well, perhaps you've learned a lesson this night, hmm?"

"Yes," Dean pushed out. It was getting easier to talk, but he still sounded drunk. He frowned up at her. "W-What were. . . you doing out?"

She eyed him with sharp golden eyes. "I heard you fall, and then I scented you. When my mate comes back to the cave, he sometimes smells like you."

Dean frowned at her, confused. She blinked at his expression. "Oh, of course. I haven't explained. My mate is Anubis. He has told me many things about you." Her smile was genuine and sweet. "My name is Bellona."

"Anubis h-has a m-mate?" Dean asked, surprised. She smiled proudly.

"Yes. We've been mated for a year now. Whenever he returns to the den, he always talks about you. I was incredibly surprised when I scented you up on that mountain," the she-demon explained.

Yes, she had scented him. And saved his life.

"Thank y-you f-for saving me," Dean chattered.

"Of course."

Bellona began to put some herbs and meat in a pot of water. She set it over the fire, humming lightly as she did so. When Dean regained enough control of his body to move, he forced himself into a sitting position, groaning softly at the pain in his ribs.

"You took a nasty fall. Our cave is quite far from any natural trail," Bellona said, her molten gold eyes flicking up to Dean's from over the pot.

"I d-don't know how far I fell. All I kn-know is I s-s-slipped," Dean replied.

Bellona nodded in understanding. She produced a bowl of stew for Dean, placing it in his cold hands.

"Th-Thank you," Dean chattered. She smiled warmly.

"Of course."

As Dean ate, the delicious soup warming his body, he glanced around. The cave was warm and cozy, the walls hung with bright rugs and tapestries. There were soft carpets on the floor too, and two tunnels that led off to different rooms. Through one, Dean thought he could glimpse a large, comfortable-looking bed.

"I th-thought Anubis lived at the B-Bunker," Dean said.

"He does most months, especially when he's training new recruits," Bellona said, ladling a bowl of stew for herself. She sat down beside Dean, her slender body folding gracefully to the ground.

"Do you g-get lonely?" Dean asked.

She laughed. "Yes. But I won't be lonely soon," the she-demon said. She patted her slender torso, smiling proudly.

Dean's eyes widened. "Really?"

Bellona laughed warmly. "Yes. Anubis doesn't know. He left on his mission before I could tell him."

Dean looked away, suddenly feeling sick. What had Anubis told him in his letter? That things weren't looking good? And everyone said he was on a suicide mission. The chances of survival. . .

Suddenly not hungry, Dean set the bowl down. "Th-Thank you for the dinner, Ms. Bellona. And for saving my life," he said again. She nodded, her eyes warm.

"Of course. My mate speaks highly of you."

Dean smiled, trying to keep the sadness from his face. "He's a good person."

Bellona smiled proudly. "He is."

_I could end this_ , Dean thought suddenly. _I could end this war. Michael said I could. I could save Anubis. I could bring him home safe to his mate and his unborn child._

_I could save the villagers, too. All the angels and humans. I could stop this war from ripping families apart._

_I would just have to kill a few demons. I killed Asmodeus. It can't be too hard. . . right?_

_But. . . but Bellona and Anubis technically_ are _demons. And. . . And don't demons have families too?_

Dean felt like vomiting the stew he'd just eaten.

"You look tired, dear. Get some sleep. I'll wake you when your angel comes for you," Bellona said gently, resting a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Thank you," he slurred. She nodded, taking the half-eaten bowl of stew from him.

Dean tipped sideways, his eyes already closing. He was exhausted. All thoughts of the war and demons were shoved from his mind at his body's insistent command to _sleep._

His last image was of Bellona pulling the blanket over his body. Then his eyes slid closed and he fell into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh. Dean has quite the dilemma. Does he fight in the war or not?
> 
> (This is all Michael's fault.)
> 
> Also, what did you think of Bellona? I named her after the Roman goddess of war. I'll write more or less of her based on your opinions. If you liked her, there can definitely be more. If you hate her, I can make her kinda fade into the background. :)
> 
> See you all soon!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
> I have another chapter for you. It's short, but I think you'll like it.
> 
> ;) Enjoy!

**Twenty**

Bellona, needless to say, was pissed.

"You just let him go out in the middle of a blizzard?" she demanded, fiery golden eyes glinting dangerously. Dean was sleeping in the next room, laid out on the bed the half-hellhounds usually shared. Castiel sighed, rubbing the back of his neck ashamedly.

"He. . . We had a fight. He stormed out."

"That doesn't mean you should just allow him to go running in the mountain passes in the middle of winter! Really, Castiel, I'm ashamed of you," Bellona scolded, her voice low so as not to wake the exhausted Nephilim.

"I'll take him back to the Bunker and apologize," Castiel promised. "I need to get him to the infirmary anyway."

"Fine," Bellona said, looking toward the wall. Castiel could sense the question coming. He tensed, preparing himself for it. "How is my mate? Have you heard from him?"

"I. . . have," Castiel said. It was true. He'd received an abysmal report on the mission the night before. Even though they'd lost over half of the Fourth Division and were only twenty feet into the cave, Michael still refused to pull back. Despite Anubis's genius mind and careful planning, the general was losing ground every day.

But he could sense the she-demon's worry, her exhaustion. She was with child, Castiel knew that, and he wasn't anxious to give her any bad news.

_I'm sorry. Your mate probably won't return alive._

No. That would never do.

But she was waiting, her golden eyes expectant.

"I. . . I received a mission report last night," Castiel hedged, struggling to find a way to twist the truth convincingly. Bellona's golden eyes narrowed, her too-clever mind picking up on the hesitation in his words.

"And?"

"And he's. . . the mission isn't going well," Castiel admitted. At the tightening of her mouth, he rushed on. "But he's one of our best generals. He can handle the challenges."

"Still, he's only one demon," Bellona said, eyes hard. "We both know the Fourth Division isn't as competent as they should be."

Castiel sighed, nodding. "I know. Lord Michael doesn't want to pull back. He's. . . confident about this one."

Or so he'd said. Castiel was beginning to worry that the archangel just wanted Anubis out of the way for good.

"Well, if I have to go up there and beat the sense into him-"

"He's on a mission to the fringes of the southern border," Castiel said, his voice taking on a warning tone. Despite being an asshole, Michael was still his brother. Besides, with that glint in her eyes, it seemed that Bellona would do anything.

"When does he return?"

Castiel winced, remembering. "In a few hours. I need to get Dean back to the Bunker by then."

Bellona frowned, eying Castiel with no small amount of suspicion. "Fine. But if you hear from my mate again, I want to read the letter too. Whether it be report, resignation, or a confession of his undying love to Gabriel."

"That. . . can be arranged," Castiel promised. They both paused for a second, heads turning to the bedroom where the Nephilim still slept. "Thank you for saving him."

Bellona turned back to Castiel, nodding once. Her golden eyes were still hard. "He's a good boy, Castiel. He has a kind soul. You'd better treat your mate right, or I'll come up there and beat it into you."

Castiel winced at the 'm' word, but he nodded. "I. . . I will. Thank you, Bellona. I'm sorry I didn't have better news for you."

Bellona nodded, sighing. She looked very tired then, her golden eyes reflecting the firelight. "This war is hard on everyone. Just make sure Anubis comes home safe."

"I will."

"Good. Take your Nephilim."

Castiel nodded and moved past her to the bedroom. He debated waking Dean, but he knew the Nephilim was exhausted and there was no way they were walking back up the mountain. The cave was set in a way so only a skilled climber could reach it.

Instead, he gently gathered Dean in his arms. The Nephilim was a lot heavier than when Castiel had first lifted him, and the angel couldn't feel every single one of his ribs anymore.

"I will make contact with you soon," Castiel murmured to Bellona as he passed. She nodded to him, tending her fire.

Castiel ducked through the lichen of her cave and out into the stormy night.

When they got back to the Bunker and Dean was placed in the infirmary, Castiel stayed long enough to hear the doctor's diagnosis.

Several broken ribs, a fractured ankle, a severe concussion, and a few non-fatal gashes.

Castiel breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that even though it was bad, it could have been much worse. In fact, if it hadn't been for Bellona, Dean would probably be a pancake at the bottom of a cliff or a frozen body in the snow.

That thought alone, and the idea of his contribution to said scenario, made Castiel want to throw something. Instead, he went and trained.

And trained. And trained.

When Castiel finally put down the blade, he was exhausted. He took a shower and headed back to his room, not feeling any better.

The knowledge of Dean sleeping in the infirmary by himself made Castiel angry all over again. He was just about to head all the way back and wait for him to wake up when he paused, hand on his own doorknob.

There was a sickly sweet-sour scent in the air.

Blood. And from the sulfurous tang to it. . . Demon blood.

Castiel tensed, freeing the blade he kept in his sleeve at all times. He narrowed his eyes at the hallway, glancing around.

They weren't there. So they must be in his room then.

Castiel took a deep breath, gripped the knife tighter, and pushed the door open.

Nothing.

Darkness.

Castiel entered the room, shutting the door behind him, and took a step forward.

A hand grabbed the blade he was holding, ripping it from his grip.

Castiel roared in surprise and anger, wings flaring. In the sound of all the feathers snapping into place, he very nearly lost the words.

"No! Castiel, you dumbass, it's me!"

Castiel paused, willing the lights in his room to flicker on.

He blinked in the light, rubbing his eyes. Then he blinked and rubbed his eyes again.

For standing in front of him was a very bloody, very alive Anubis.

"Father," Castiel whispered. "Anubis, how the hell did you get here?"

"Crawled through the window," Anubis said. For once, there was no sarcastic bite to his words. He took in the horrified glance Castiel sent up and down his body and said, "Don't worry. Most of it isn't mine."

"What happened?" Castiel demanded.

"The Central Cave was a set up. A nest. We were massacred on the third day. I managed to escape with a few soldiers. We made it as far as the southern fringe of the mountains before we met an angel patrol."

"Michael," Castiel breathed. 

"Yes," Anubis said, icy eyes lighting with anger. "Michael. And instead of offering safe haven, like the remaining soldiers of the Fourth thought, he slaughtered them all and came for me. I barely escaped with my life."

"How did you get up here so fast? We received at least two letters since you'd reported about getting into the cave," Castiel said. His knees felt weak with relief. Anubis was alive. He was _here._

And. . . the journey from the Central Cave took weeks. They'd received a letter last night. Unless he could teleport, there was no way Anubis had managed to travel all that way so fast.

"Fakes," Anubis snarled. "They're faking my writing and my sigil so you think I'm still down there. Whatever remains of the Fourth is a pile of bones by now."

Castiel flinched at that. An _entire_ division lost. . .

"That's why Michael was coming here so quickly," Castiel realized. "He knew you would show up. He's trying to stop you from reaching me."

"Yes," Anubis said, nodding. "And he's right on my tail. Only about half a day's journey behind me. He. . . He tried to _kill_ me, Castiel. He's not who you think he is."

"What do you mean?" Castiel asked, eyebrows furrowing.

"He's allied with the demons," Anubis breathed out. "I saw it for myself. Azazel and Asmodeus. . . They were at that camp at the southern border. _Negotiating_ with Michael. They were talking about becoming one, uniting their armies in peace."

"That's bullshit. Michael wouldn't do that," Castiel growled. His brother was many things, but he was not a traitor. Too much relied on him and the angel force stopping the demons from crossing the mountains.

"No, he wouldn't. He's planning on killing them after they give up rights to their army in exchange for free access to the villages on the eastern side of the mountains. Then he's going to murder all the demons," Anubis said, face set with grim certainty.

And to do that, he would need a weapon capable of mass destruction.

"With Dean," Castiel realized, horror shooting through him.

"Well, finally," a voice drawled behind them. "It took you long enough."

Castiel and Anubis whirled. Michael grinned at them both.

"Michael," Anubis snarled.

"Hello, Anubis. It's good to see my two top generals in the same place. You're really quite genius when you're together," Michael said, smiling like a shark. "Unfortunately for you, neither of you are leaving this room alive."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun DUN!!!!
> 
> Uh oh. Michael is back. Again. Now Jenniy can come up with more morbid ways to kill him, and I can struggle to write more of him without making him so OOC it makes your eyes bleed.
> 
> Finals are a bitch. If my posting schedule is a little off in the next few days, I apologize. I've barely been getting enough time to write as it is.
> 
> I love you all! See you soon!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SORRY. Finals and Districts in sports have been really tough. I know I haven't posted in a while, so I have a good one for you today.
> 
> Once again, no fluff. Sorry.
> 
> I hope it makes up for the wait! I think I'll post more regularly now!

**Twenty-One**

Something wasn't right.

Dean opened his eyes and tensed.

The Dark.

_No, no, not the Dark. It isn't the Dark. There's. . . There's a light._

Dean frowned, squinting at the bright line of gold across what looked like a dirty cement floor. Where _was_ he? His body throbbed, his head aching, his ribs shooting pain whenever he breathed. But he was alive, and he was. . .

He was tied up.

Immediately, Castiel's training kicked in. Dean tested the ropes, struggling to find weaknesses or looseness of any sort.

Nothing. In fact, the ropes seemed to be made of some sort of flexible metal. They would be impossible to break out of, then.

The chair, too, wasn't an option. Not only was it also made of some sort of metal, but it was bolted to the floor, which Dean discovered when he tried to push it around with his legs. He couldn't move an inch.

He wasn't gagged. It didn't reassure the Nephilim any. In fact, it almost made it worse. Whoever had tied him up had either known that no one would hear or come to help him, or they didn't care. Which meant Dean was in a bad situation.

_Think. Where was I when I was last awake?_

_Think. Come on, brain. Think. I was. . . I was. . ._

Dean frowned, head throbbing as he tried to remember. There was cold and snow, brief flashes of pain and blood and darkness and then-

Light. Firelight. And a beautiful woman who called herself Bellona and introduced herself as Anubis's mate.

He had fallen asleep in her cave. And now he was here.

Was it a trap? It must have been. But Dean could swear he remembered his eyes fluttering open just long enough to catch Castiel laying him down on an infirmary bed. But that could have just been a dream.

_Where am I?_

He tried to look around, but there wasn't much light provided by the thin strip of gold on the floor, made by the light shining from underneath what must have been a door.

Still, Dean strained his eyes to see. He was in a dark room, and when he shuffled around and made a few louder noises, he could tell that the room wasn't very big. Perhaps the size of the small bedroom he'd been granted upon leaving the infirmary the first time.

He tested the bindings again, struggling against what felt like solid, yet flexible, metal. Nothing worked, not even when he used all of his strength.

Sighing, Dean settled back into his chair. There was nothing left to do but wait. Whoever had left him here obviously hadn't intended to be gone for very long.

So he settled in.

And Dean waited.

The Nephilim must have dozed off at some point, because he was net awoken by the sound of a key turning in a lock.

Dean straightened, squinting into blazing light as the door was shoved open and the illumination from outside pierced the darkness.

"Hello, little Nephilim."

The voice made his blood run cold.

Dean glared up as best he could at Michael, snarling as viciously as possible at the two angels that stepped forward to unbind him.

The second his arms were free, Dean found a blade at his throat. Michael grinned at him.

"What do you want, Michael? What is all this?" Dean demanded.

Michael just grinned wider. "Your friends have been getting on my nerves. They seem to have it in their heads that you belong to them, not me, and that they can overthrow me just because they know of my plans."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean demanded, a small amount of fear creeping into his veins. Where was Castiel?

Michael smiled in a way that made Dean's blood run cold.

"You'll see."

The guards bound Dean's arms to his body and his hands to his elbows, shoving him down the hallway at a brutal pace. Michael kept ahead, walking swiftly, his shining wings glowing behind him. Dean grunted as he was shoved along, barely able to stay on his feet.

They walked down hallway after hallway, the cement gray walls becoming familiar. They were still in the Bunker. But where were all the angels?

Dean swallowed a yelp of pain as the guards shoved him again, his ankle throbbing red-hot. He felt like someone had driven a fiery pike through it. 

They rounded a corner, and suddenly they were stumbling into the great hall, where meals were served, announcements were made, and contests were held. It was the central point of the social side of the Bunker. 

And currently. . .

Currently, it was only occupied by four other people. Or rather, beings.

Lucifer, Castiel, Gabriel, and Anubis were all kneeling before the high table at the end of the hall, where all the generals and high commanders usually ate. The angels' wings were bound with some sort of silvery metal. Anubis had a gag, his jaw working furiously to bite through the thick cloth.

As Michael and his guards shoved Dean closer, the Nephilim could see that it looked like there'd been a fight. Castiel was sporting a black eye and a cut along his cheek. Lucifer was hunched over, as if his ribs or some other part of his torso was hurt. Gabriel had a swollen lip, and Anubis's face was beaten black and blue, his normally golden hair stained crimson with blood from several gashes.

As Dean came into view of the four captives, Castiel straightened, his normally blue eyes shining with grace.

"Michael. What have you done?" he snarled, voice ringing throughout the empty hall.

"Let that Nephilim go!" Lucifer roared. His blue eyes were fiery red, glowing crimson. "Michael! Release us! You have no idea what you're doing!"

"Tsk, tsk, Lucifer," Michael said smugly. "You of all people should know that wrath is a sin."

Lucifer's face contorted with anger and the glasses on all the nearest tables shattered. "I _AM_ SIN, YOU CRAZY SON OF A BITCH!"

Michael flipped a hand at the guards still holding Dean. "Gag him."

They released Dean and went to put a gag on Lucifer, getting themselves bitten savagely in the process.

"What's going on? Michael, you great big bag of dicks, explain yourself," Gabriel growled.

Michael sighed, seating himself in the middle chair at the high table, smirking down at the bound Nephilim. Dean was forced to his knees at his feet, glaring at the guards who stayed beside him. They continued looking forward blankly.

"Lately, I've been hearing. . . _rumors_ that certain people are thinking of. . . oh, thinking of changing the power dynamic around here."

"Of overthrowing your tyrannical ass," Anubis snarled.

Michael looked at him, his face mildly surprised. "Oh, you managed to bite through that gag after all. No matter. I have plenty."

Anubis snarled at the guard, so savagely that the angel stepped back uncertainly. "Gag me again and I'll bite off your fingers and stick them up your ass."

Michael snorted. "Don't worry about it, Uriel. Just hold the Nephilim."

"What do you want with Dean?" Castiel asked. He sounded almost pleading, though the angry tone in his voice was still present.

"He's the key to my success," Michael said, grinning. "He's going to kill any resistance I may face."

"I won't do shit for you," Dean said. The guard behind him struck Dean, which made Castiel roar in anger.

"You will," Michael drawled lazily. "Because you fear for your friends. And because if you don't, I'll hand you right back over to Alastair and Asmodeus."

"Oh, you mean your business partners?" Anubis demanded, icy eyes glowing from the inside. Pure hatred twisted his face as he glared up at the archangel sitting at the high table.

Michael looked down at him mildly. "Yes. But only, of course, for the time being."

"Where are all the other angels?" Gabriel asked, looking around. "Please, Michael, what are you doing?"

"The other angels are being held by my temporary army."

"Army?" Castiel asked, frowning. "What army?"

"The demon army. You didn't really think I was fighting demons down at the southern border, do you? Did you not anticipate what I might bring back with me? Good Father, Castiel, you're slipping," Michael said.

Castiel paled, as if suddenly realizing the sort of situation they were in. Dean felt faint, as if he could tip over right then.

Gabriel looked horrified. "Michael, what have you done?"

"I've saved us," Michael replied.

"You've enslaved your people and taken your family captive," Castiel retorted. "You've gone insane."

Michael slammed his fist down on the table, rattling any remaining glasses Lucifer hadn't smashed. " _No._ I've _saved_ us, Castiel. We would have died at the hands of the demons."

"At least we aren't becoming demons ourselves," Anubis growled.

"You already _are_ a demon. Which reminds me," Michael said, sitting up and snapping his fingers at the guard. "I have a little test for Dean."

"But Michael, I don't _have_ any powers. Castiel can tell you," Dean pleaded. Michael snorted. 

"Yes, he can." He smiled knowingly at Castiel, then turned to Uriel and nodded. The guard stepped away from the high table and walked toward the bound angels.

"Michael, please," Gabriel said. "We can help you. Don't do this."

"Too late," Michael replied. "I don't need your help anymore. Uriel, kill the demon."

"NO!" Dean shouted.

Uriel unsheathed a blade, shining and sharp. He stepped behind Anubis, still looking uncertain as the half-hellhound snarled savagely at him.

"Yes," Michael said calmly. "We can do this all night, 005. Just use your powers and save your friend."

"I. . . I c-can't," Dean said, his eyesight getting blurry. Anubis wasn't looking at him, instead glaring at the angel behind him. Uriel held the blade to the half-demon's throat, making him hiss.

"Come now, boy. You just have to find that power. I know you can," Michael said. His patronizing tone just made Dean want to cry harder.

_No. Stop_ crying _, you pathetic idiot. You need to save Anubis. Come on. Where's the power?_

_I_ have _no power._

Dean sniffled, shaking his head. "Please, Michael, please. I can't, I have no power-"

"You have three seconds, Nephilim. Three seconds, and then your friend dies."

"Michael, please-" Gabriel started.

Dean sobbed, struggling to find something, _anything_ to save Anubis. There was nothing. Only the cold emptiness in his chest. The fear and undeniable panic.

He pushed. There must be _something_ , Michael had said there was something, something there that made him powerful, but all that Dean could feel was fear and panic and pain and-

"Time's up," Michael said, sounding almost bored.

Dean pushed, struggling for something, _anything_ \- 

But he could find nothing. Nothing to stop Michael as he flicked his hand. Nothing to stop the fear from entering Anubis's eyes a split second before Uriel raised his hand.

And nothing to stop the angel from swinging down and burying his blade in Anubis's chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot that I like cliffhangers too much.
> 
> I'M SORRY. I PROMISE I WON'T MAKE YOU WAIT ON THIS ONE.
> 
> Maybe. :)
> 
> See you all soon!


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I have another one for you.
> 
> I'm sorry about the last cliffhanger. Sort of. :) This chapter is short and not-so-sweet. It isn't my best writing, for which I apologize. Things have been hectic, but I wanted to get this out to you. If it feels rushed, it is. Don't worry, the next few chapters will have better quality writing, I promise.
> 
> Enjoy? :)

**Twenty-Two**

Dean's scream of agony shattered something in Castiel's chest.

The Nephilim was sobbing, struggling against the angel that held him as Anubis's body fell to the floor with a sickening thump.

Lucifer roared around his gag, wings fluffing up underneath the metal strips that held them in place. A shockwave of energy rippled through the hall, making everyone wince.

"Oh, stop being so dramatic, Lucy," Michael sighed. "He'll reincarnate. Or maybe he won't. I guess it's a fifty-fifty chance."

Castiel winced as another shockwave blasted through the hall.

Dean was still sobbing, shaking his head profusely. Castiel figured out why a second before the blade touched at his own throat.

"Michael, you're insane," Gabriel gasped, struggling against his bonds for the first time. It was no use. Castiel had tested his own thousands of times. There were no weaknesses.

"I'm trying to save us, Gabriel," Michael snarled, all patience in his position gone. He sat up straight, slamming a fist down on the table. "I'm doing this for the better of everyone. Can't you see that?"

"Killing Castiel won't help everyone," Gabriel said, his voice pleading. "The angels will see you as a monster, not their savior."

Michael frowned at Castiel with a glint in his eyes, as if weighing his weight in gold instead of him as an angel and a brother.

It made Castiel's spine tingle. He forced himself to stay still and calm, despite the blade pricking at his throat. Despite the way his wings were bound. Despite Dean's broken sobbing. Despite the fact that Anubis's red-black blood was spreading in a cooling puddle across the floor.

He looked Michael in the eyes, waiting.

"Perhaps you're right, Gabriel," Michael said. He looked contemplatively at Dean.

A split second later, Castiel realized what was about to happen. "NO!"

Michael grinned at him. "Yes. I think a visit with Alastair will change your perspectives, Nephilim."

"You can't. Michael, you bastard, you promised!" Castiel cried, his voice cracking brokenly midway through his sentence. Michael smiled cruelly at Castiel, that awful glint in his eyes sending shudders down the angel's spine.

"Don't worry, Cassie. You'll be going with him."

Dean seemed to have shut down.

He stared blankly ahead, even as the guards heaved him up and began to drag him away. His body was limp, most likely with shock, Castiel thought.

The angel went willingly under threat of being knocked out. He cast one last look at his brothers as he passed out of the entryway to the great hall. Lucifer looked furious, glaring at Michael. Gabriel was keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the cement ground before him, not wanting to choose between watching Castiel leave and staring at Anubis's motionless form.

As they passed, the one of the guards kicked the fallen hellhound's body.

Castiel jerked his head to the side, cracking his skull on the guard's nose. The angel howled and cupped his face, blood spurting out. The other guard tightened his grip in warning, but Castiel was already back to staring straight ahead, docile once again.

He pretended not to notice the fact that Anubis's chest had constricted slightly when he'd been kicked. Or that the half-hellhound's eyelids had fluttered, if only slightly.

Very, very slightly.

Castiel kept his face blank and neutral, as lifeless as the Nephilim being dragged in front of him and the not-quite dead body behind.

Castiel couldn't keep up his disinterested facade as they exited the Bunker. The sight before him was enough to make him want to vomit.

Rows and rows of dark specks moved at the base of the mountain. There were fires burning, enormous metal cages glinting in their golden light. And imprisoned in those cages. . .

Angels. The entirety of the Bunker's inhabitants, caged and chained.

_How could Michael ever explain himself, paint himself as a savior in their eyes?_

Castiel stumbled slightly as he shoved down the mountain path, his eyes still drawn to the horrifying sight. The cages looked enormous and impenetrable. There was no way Michael could have dragged them up in such a short amount of time.

_He's been planning this for a very, very long time,_ Castiel realized.

The thought made him sick.

Dean's face was still blank, his eyes flat and dead. The lack of fire, lack of _life_ , in the Nephilim's eyes made Castiel's chest constrict.

They made their way down the mountain. When they'd reached the base camp, they were led between tents and fires, the demon soldiers and angel prisoners staring as they passed.

Dean didn't seem to notice. Castiel did that for him.

The locks on the cages looked enormous and impenetrable. There must have been hundreds of demons milling about. They paused in their chores to hiss and spit at Castiel and Dean as they passed, heading for the center of the camp.

When they'd gone almost three hundred yards from the fringe of the camp, they came to an enormous war tent.

Castiel swallowed, suddenly sure he was going to be sick. The dead, blank look still hadn't left Dean's eyes, though they flicked upward and took in the tent.

It was large and imposing, crafted of dark silk and fluttering in the wind that rose off the mountain face. Torches burned outside, their fires almost glowing green.

"Move," the guard grunted, shoving Castiel forward.

The angel stumbled, nearly falling on his face in the mud. The guards shoved him through the tent flaps, the interior darker than the torchlit area outside.

As Castiel's vision cleared, he saw the first real reaction out of Dean painted all over the Nephilim's face.

Fear. Unadulterated fear.

And as Castiel's eyes adjusted to the dimness of the tent and he saw what awaited them, he understood.

There was no way out now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh. . .
> 
> Shit's going down. I told you it would.
> 
> IF YOU'RE HERE FOR THE FLUFF, IT'S COMING. WAIT A FEW CHAPTERS. I WILL GIVE IT TO YOU, DON'T WORRY.
> 
> I love you all! See you soon!


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Superbowl Sunday, to you Americans out there! (To any non-Americans who are confused, it's basically a big football game where different companies compete to make the most money and pretend like it's still about the game). ANYWAY, my Seattle Seahawks aren't in it this time around, but we'll get 'em next year! :)
> 
> I have another chapter. Still no fluff. Sorry.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Twenty-Three**

Dean couldn't think. Couldn't breathe.

Alastair smiled at him.

The Table. It was _here._ And it had been changed.

There were two new bands on the edges of the Table, Dean realized. They were thick and sturdy, and they were obviously restraints.

For wings.

Dean's eyes flicked to Castiel, who seemed to have realized this too.

"I thought we could break you the old way, but a little bird told me you'd made a friend who is very important to you," Alastair said, grinning at Dean. "Hello, 005."

The name made Dean feel sick. He looked over to see Azazel sitting in the shadows, face impassive.

"Alastair, you son of a bitch. What do you want with him?"

_Castiel._

Dean glanced over at him, fear striking through his heart. They knew. They knew about Dean's secret. . . admiration. They _knew._

And Dean knew too. Knew that the second they strapped Castiel to that table, he would break. He would do whatever they wanted of him, even though he didn't quite know what _that_ was.

Or how to do it.

Panic shot through Dean, but he remembered his training with Castiel. _Show no fear._ He steeled himself and bared his teeth at Alastair. "Fuck you."

The demon raised his eyebrows, interest and a slight glint of disbelief in his dark eyes. "So they _did_ manage to make you into a little spitfire. Interesting," the demon remarked. He glanced over at Azazel, grinning. "We'll have fun breaking you all over again."

Castiel snarled. Dean looked over and was shocked to see that the angel's normally blue eyes were glowing white with power.

Alastair shifted uncomfortably, a small bit of fear in his eyes. Azazel remained impassive in the shadows, unfazed by the show of power Castiel displayed. "Chain him to the table," Alastair ordered the angels, as if realizing just what Castiel could do with his grace if he weren't tied up.

The guards began to shove Castiel toward the Table.

"Leave him alone," Dean snarled. But there was fear in his voice. And he knew Alastair could scent it, like a bloodhound on a scent. The demon grinned like a shark, eyes cold and dead.

"Before we've even had any fun? I don't think so, little Nephilim." He spat out the last word like a curse, face twisting with hatred and barely contained glee. "You'll have to save your precious mate from the big bad demon."

Dean flinched. "N-No," he said, hating that his voice was shaking. He was descending, falling back into that pit of fear and pain inside of himself when he'd only just clawed his way out.

"Begin," Azazel said from the corner. His voice held barely contained rage, and Dean realized just how angry the demon was, how hungry he was for blood. Dean had slaughtered Asmodeus, and Dean knew that Azazel would hold a grudge until the day he died.

"No! No, Alastair, please! I'll do what you want, leave him alone!" Dean cried, losing all semblance of control as he beheld the rack of torture weapons that leaned against the far tent wall. Dean tried struggling against the angel that held him, but the soldier held him with an iron grip. Alastair snorted.

"You have to actually _do_ something first, 005."

" _Please_ ," Dean sobbed, tears beginning to fall as they strapped Castiel's beautiful black wings to the Table. "Please, I can't-"

"Can't _what_ , 005? Can't move? Can't fight? Can't escape? You're right," Alastair sneered, smirking at Dean as Castiel's wings were bound. The angel winced in pain, causing Dean to panic more.

_I'm just as powerless as before. I'm_ useless. _They're going to kill Castiel because of me, it's all my fault, I can't breathe, can't fight, can't_ save _him-_

One of the angels produced a blade and handed it to Alastair.

" _No,_ " Dean choked out.

"Dean, stay strong," Castiel said, eyes watching Alastair warily as the demon stepped toward him, grinning. "Don't give in, Dean. Don't you dare-"

He cut off with a shout of pain as Alastair drove the knife into his wing.

Dean sobbed, struggling uselessly. He was so _weak_ , he couldn't do anything, his angel, his Castiel, his _mate_ was being tortured and there was nothing to do.

_Mate._

_My mate. He's my mate. He's in pain. And. . . and. . ._

_And Alastair is hurting him. He's hurting_ my _mate._

_Mine._

Something hot roiled in Dean's gut. It fought against the freezing panic and fear, melting past the rigid terror that stopped Dean's lungs from contracting and his heart from beating.

He latched onto that hot feeling, that _rage._

For it was rage that now curled in his gut, hot and tight, curled around something inside him that had slumbered all his life but now peeked one eye open.

Dean stilled, calming himself even as Alastair drove his blade into Castiel's wing, causing the angel to cry out again.

_You will pay._

Dean closed his eyes, blocked out the blood that now stained the front of Alastair's stupid leather armor, blocked out the flickering torchlight and chattering soldiers and rushing wind and barely suppressed panic and _focused._

On that thing inside of him. The thing that now reared its head, wings spreading wide as it awakened at last.

Dean opened his eyes and shattered all of the glass in the room.

The angels that held Dean jerked away with twin howls of pain as their hands were seared, the Nephilim's skin suddenly flaring hot under their hands.

Azazel leaned back, looking apprehensive. Alastair looked uncertain for the first time, no small amount of fear in his gaze as his gaze flicked to his brother's.

Castiel opened pain-glazed eyes and stared at Dean in awe.

The Nephilim glared at Alastair.

"Step away from my mate."

Alastair seemed to regain some confidence, shaky as it was. He chuckled, his voice breaking a little and betraying the illusion of self-control. "Or what? You'll smite me? You're still bound by grace-suppressing metal, Nephilim."

Dean looked down at the metal that bound his arms and hands, as if he'd just noticed it was there.

Such frivolous, useless binding. It would do nothing against the power that now roared in Dean's chest.

Half a thought had the metal melting to the ground, slipping off the Nephilim's body like quicksilver.

Azazel jerked, as if making up his mind. He jumped up and ran from the tent, tearing through a back exit without a second thought.

Alastair dropped the blade with a clatter, staring at Dean in horrified awe. The look on his face was stupid with fear.

"You can't-that's-that's not p-possible, how-you can't-"

"I told you to step away from my mate," Dean snarled, stepping forward. For once, Alastair yielded ground to him. 

The swallowed audibly, his eyes flashing with fear one last time.

Dean raised his right hand without thinking, as if it were an instinct, and snapped his fingers.

The demon exploded, a hiss of sulfur filling the room. The metal restraints melted off of Castiel's wings and body, freeing him. The angel sat up, still staring at Dean like he was a being from another planet.

"Dean?" he whispered.

"Cas?" Dean felt uncertain for the first time. He swallowed, wondering if he'd done something wrong. There was no one else in the tent. The two angel guards had fled. He looked to Castiel, worry flickering in his gut.

They looked at each other for a moment. Then Castiel's eyes hardened, becoming cold and efficient, like in training. The angel glanced around the now-empty tent. "Azazel will be back momentarily with Michael. Arm yourself."

Dean nodded, obeying orders like they were training again.

Only there weren't any practice blades here.

He grabbed a sword and a blade from the rack Alastair had set up. Castiel armed himself similarly, stripping the two angel guards of their armor and strapping it on himself. He bound his wing with a piece of cloth, the bandage serving for the time being until the wing healed on its own.

When they'd armed themselves, Dean and Castiel turned to each other.

"Your eyes are glowing," Dean said quietly, surprised. Castiel chuckled.

"Yours are too."

Dean didn't think to look or check. He just nodded once.

"I. . . I'm sorry for getting distracted in training," Dean said, suddenly sure that if he didn't say the words, he would drown. Castiel eyed him sheepishly.

"I'm sorry for being a jealous ass," he replied.

"Are we even?"

"Yes."

Dean and Castiel smiled at each other briefly,

Then, as one, they stepped out of the tent.

And found Michael waiting, arms crossed, smirking at them, an entire host of demons at his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOOOOOOOOO-
> 
> :) I hope you liked it! THE FLUFF IS COMING, I PROMISE.
> 
> I love you all! Go the-other-team-that-isn't-the-49ers!
> 
> ;)


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, you amazing people! Can I just take a moment and say that I love you? You're amazing and unique and special. Don't you EVER forget that. :)
> 
> I have another chapter for you. I think you'll like it. ;) The fluff is coming in the next chapter, promise!

**Twenty-Four**

Castiel's blood ran cold.

He struggled to keep his breathing under control, told himself not to panic, even as he took in the masses of demons beyond them. Hundreds. Far too many to take down as a duo.

Michael was grinning. He knew it.

Dean just looked over the host of demons with a cool expression. His green eyes were still glowing silver. He looked fierce in the armor they had salvaged from the angels, and Castiel would have liked to paint a picture of him in that moment.

If only they had the time.

"Hello, brother," Michael said.

"Michael," Castiel growled. He eyed the crowd behind the archangel. "Where are Gabriel and Lucifer?"

Michael grinned. "A little tied up at the moment."

Castiel loosed a breath. At least they weren't dead. He didn't think he could handle the knowledge that his brother had killed the other two.

For a moment, there was no noise but the wind off the mountain face. Dean stepped forward. "We don't want this to end in bloodshed, Michael."

The archangel grinned, his eyes lighting with an insane glint. "It was always destined to."

"You call this a solution?" Castiel demanded, gesturing at the demon camp, the angels in cages. "You call this salvation?"

"Sometimes bad things must be done to prevent worse," Michael replied calmly.

"Not this, Michael," Castiel said, his voice breaking slightly with a sudden wave of sadness. "Not this."

"You will surrender," Michael said, his face changing from calm to angry. "You will not resist anymore. You're up against an entire army, five hundred to two. Your odds are not favorable."

Castiel swallowed, resisting the urge to turn and glance back up at the entrance to the Bunker set into the cliff face. He half-hoped that Lucifer would come storming out, but he knew it was a foolish hope.

"You have one more chance," Michael called.

Castiel looked to the side, caught Dean's eyes. The Nephilim nodded once to him, his face set.

Castiel turned back to his brother, faced the host of demons, and bared his teeth at the army that awaited them. He raised his blades, tensed his muscles, and replied, "To quote Lucifer's wise words: 'Go fuck yourself'."

Michael sighed in annoyance. "Very well. _Advance._ "

The army shifted as one. 

Castiel pressed into Dean's side, taking comfort in the steadiness of his mate beside him as the army advanced, coming at them like a slow-moving tide of death.

"How do we get out of this, Cas?" Dean murmured.

Castiel wanted to lie. He wanted to tell Dean that they needed to pull off some crazy plan or escape or charge. But he couldn't. Because it wasn't true. So he replied, as honestly as he could.

"We don't."

Dean didn't panic. Didn't balk. Just blinked those damning silver eyes and nodded, as if accepting the fact that they were going to die. Here. Now. On this mountainside, side by side, facing a host from Hell.

The army advanced, the wall they made with their bodies prickling with spears.

Castiel braced himself, getting ready to fight until he couldn't.

A howl tore through the air.

Everyone in the camp tensed, an involuntary shot of fear firing through them. Castiel and Dean looked at each other, eyes wide.

"No," Michael snarled, eyes flicking up to something behind Castiel and Dean.

Slowly, the Nephilim and angel turned, their eyes landing on the near-invisible wolf standing at the top of the ridge, their angel blood allowing them to see him. 

"It's not _possible_ ," Azazel snarled from Michael's side. There was a shot of fear that underlined his words.

"You should be dead!" Michael bellowed up at the hellhound standing at the top of the ridge. "Uriel stabbed you in the heart."

Anubis grinned, a wild light glinting in his ice-blue eyes. "Then it's a good thing I don't have one."

Another hellhound appeared at his side, raising her head and howling to the dark clouds obscuring the moon.

Like a hellish choir, dozens more echoed.

The demon army had just enough time to pray to a God they didn't believe in before the pack of hellhounds descended upon them.

Castiel had enough presence of mind to charge with them, half-dragging an awed Dean with him as they sprinted forward. Near-invisible hounds rushed past them, leaping with unearthly grace and speed to tear apart the army of demons that now cowered before them.

Dean recovered halfway before they met Azazel and Michael in the field of battle.

Castiel's blade clashed with Michael's, his arms shuddering with the force of the blow.

"You have no idea what you're doing," Michael snarled, eyes glowing with power.

"Neither do you," Castiel replied.

They broke apart and slammed together again, drawn like magnets to each other. Violent, endless, inevitable. Like the unstoppable force of the tide against the immovable land.

Their swords met again, and grace blasted outward, disintegrating several of the nearest demons.

Castiel focused his entire being on the archangel before him, focused his anger and fear and hatred on his brother, who had betrayed them, who had threatened to hurt Dean.

Dean. Castiel's mate. 

_I will not allow Michael to hurt him any more._

Castiel roared and brought his blade down on Michael's with renewed vigor.

Grace blasted from the two angels periodically, though Castiel could feel his reserves depleting. Michael was far more powerful than him, no matter how much of an advantage Castiel had. An archangel was naturally more equipped for battle.

So Castiel fought. Not to end Michael, he realized, but to buy time. For Dean, who fought Azazel with all his strength. For Anubis and Bellona, whose pack now tore apart the demon army.

Even then, it was all a matter of time.

Castiel ended up slipping, thrown off balance as his injured wing refused to flare at the right time. He went down, parrying desperately as Michael struck downward.

_He's trying to kill me,_ Castiel realized.

It was stupid. It should have registered before. But somehow, the knowledge that his brother, his oldest and most looked-up-to brother, was trying to end his life sent a shock through Castiel.

His blade slipped a little, allowing Michael's to inch closer to his chest.

"Give up, Castiel," Michael growled.

Castiel bared his teeth at his brother and pushed upward with all his might.

It was no use. His grip was slipping, his strength burning out. And still, Michael pushed relentlessly.

Castiel gritted his teeth, his fingers sliding on the sweat-slick hilt of his sword.

With a final, desperate gasp, the sword slid out of his grasp and Michael's blade plunged down.

Only to meet Dean's.

Michael snarled up at the Nephilim. "Finally ran from Azazel?"

"I tired of him," Dean said calmly. Indeed, black blood splattered his handsome face.

He arced his blade up, catching Michael's in a ringing clash. Castiel quickly scrambled out from between the two of them, rolling to a standing position. He caught his breath, angled his blade, and stepped into battle by his mate's side.

"You aren't as powerful as me," Michael snarled as they both pressed into him, their blades flashing in the light of the few remaining campfires.

Castiel didn't reply, and Dean didn't either. Instead, angel and Nephilim pressed harder, their blades flashing in deadly unison, hacking at Michael's defenses and wearing the archangel down. He was giving up ground, backing up into the thick of the fighting. At some point, a demon and hellhound flew over them, the hellhound's flashing claws nearly taking Dean's head off as it passed.

The Nephilim barely noticed, too busy trying to separate Michael's head from his shoulders.

"You are weak," the archangel spat, panting, as they pressed him back more and more. "You're foolish and you will die for it. An abomination." His gaze flicked to Dean. "And a traitor." He looked to Castiel. "You have no hope of defeating me."

Castiel realized that, though he was full of shit, Michael was right. He was tired, but not as much as Dean and Castiel. The archangel was simply more powerful.

"You're right," Dean breathed, dropping his blade in a swift motion. Castiel dropped his too. Michael glared at them both, his eyes wary, sword still up in a defensive position.

Castiel glanced to the Nephilim, taking in the way his silver eyes seemed to glow brighter. He had something planned. But what?

"I am an archangel. A chosen warrior of God. You are _nothing_ ," Michael spat. "And you can never hope to defeat me."

"You're right," Dean repeated. He smiled, a small, secret smile that usually meant he was about to flip Castiel on his back in training. "I am _more so._ "

He raised his hand and snapped his fingers at the exact same moment Michael snapped his.

Castiel was pushed to his knees, skidding backward through the icy mud at the force of the wave of grace that blasted from the two angels. 

Michael's eyes widened. "That's not. . . that's not _possible_ ," the archangel spluttered.

"I've been doing lots of supposedly impossible things today," Dean said calmly. He raised his hand and snapped his fingers again.

Michael flinched, as if expecting to explode away into dust.

Nothing happened. He remained standing a few feet away from the Nephilim.

After a moment, his eyes opened and he snorted, sneering at Dean. "I'll show y-"

The archangel looked down, as if just noticing the restraints that had been bound around his wrists, wings, and ankles.

"That's. . . That's not possible," Michael said again, his voice faint.

"It seems it is," Dean said calmly. He made a motion with his hand, creating a fist, and Michael fell to his knees before the Nephilim.

All around them, the fighting slowed to a stop, having already been interrupted by the wave of grace. Demons slowly put down their weapons, baring their teeth at the hellhounds who watched with stony detachment.

Everyone looked in, to where Michael knelt before Dean. To where the archangel bowed before the Nephilim.

Castiel did too. And what he saw made him suck in a breath.

Wings, great and shining, extended from Dean's back. They glowed with a silvery white light, their feathers underlined with hints of tawny gold and forest green.

_Nephilim._

Michael's eyes widened at the sight, and he ducked his head in submission, defeated.

Castiel saw Anubis out of the corner of his eye. The young general, covered in blood and gore, raised his head to the sky and howled.

Bellona joined in. Then, one by one, the rest of the hellhounds took up the cry. Castiel lifted his face to the heavens and bellowed too, rejoicing in their victory as their howls lit the night sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was for some of you who've been asking for Dean's wings for a while now. ;)
> 
> I love you all! You're incredible!
> 
> See you soon!


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
> This is it! The last chapter! I'm not TOO thrilled with how it ended, but it did its job. I hope you like it.
> 
> I'll have more formal stuff at the end. Just enjoy. ;)

**Twenty-Five**

When the hellhounds had finally stopped howling and the adrenaline had died down, Dean stumbled a bit. He found a warm, solid wall behind him.

The wall turned out to be Castiel. 

"Your wings are very beautiful," the angel murmured, smiling at Dean. The Nephilim nodded tiredly, his head spinning.

"'M gonna fall asleep," Dean mumbled.

"You're exhausted," Castiel replied, nodding. "You just need to sit down. A changing isn't something to take lightly."

"Changing?" Dean slurred, sitting down in the mud beside Castiel as Anubis walked over and began to bind Michael with a few more secure restraints.

"Yes. When a Nephilim chooses their angel or their human side," Castiel replied. He glanced over at Dean's wings, smiling. "Your choice is obvious."

Dean hummed in agreement and closed his eyes, content to fall asleep forever, tucked against Castiel's warm chest.

"Hate to break up the moment, but you're needed, General Castiel," a voice said apologetically. Dean opened his eyes reluctantly and found Anubis before him.

The general was listing slightly to the side, blood matting his hair and staining his face. He had several gashes and a very visible black eye, but he was grinning.

Without another word, Dean launched himself forward and into the hellhound. He grunted, catching the Nephilim with a laugh.

"Hey, kiddo. Good to see you," Anubis said.

"I thought you were dead," Dean murmured into the half-demon's chest. 

"Yeah, me too. Lucifer and Gabriel healed me with their grace, as much as they could. They're passed out in the Bunker upstairs," Anubis explained, looking down at Dean with a small smile on his face.

"They're alright?" Castiel asked from behind them.

"Yes, sir. Alive and well, though their grace is depleted," Anubis replied.

Castiel nodded, looking relieved. "Alright. Dean, I'm going to go check on them. I'll see you in a few hours."

Dean nodded, too tired to reply. Anubis looked down at him as the angel walked away, quirking an eyebrow up. "I thought I heard them call you something like that. Your name is Dean?"

Dean nodded, smiling tiredly. "You didn't really think my name was 005, did you?"

Anubis snorted. "Not any more than my name is 025."

Dean smiled, leaning heavily on the demon as a wave of exhaustion flowed over him. "I can. . . do tha' cartwheel f'r you," he muttered, words slurring. "Jus'. . . not now."

"Of course. Get some sleep, kid. You've done enough today," Anubis said.

Dean closed his eyes, exhausted.

He felt himself being picked up and carried. Then he fell into the pit of unconsciousness and knew no more.

Michael was put into what Lucifer called 'the Cage' something that made everyone wince. It was only temporary, the angels decided.

Lucifer was initiated as the new leader of the Bunker, though it wasn't really necessary. With Azazel, Alastair, and Asmodeus dead, the demon army dispersed to the winds. Anubis and his pack were tasked with the mission of hunting down any remaining survivors, which they made quick work of.

Anubis and Bellona were hailed as heroes and welcomed into the Bunker and the towns and villages beyond the mountains. Dean didn't think he'd ever laughed harder than when Bellona announced that she was with pup to Anubis. After he'd gotten over the initial shock of being a father, guilt of letting his pregnant mate fight in a battle, and near-concussion he received from the slap on the back from Lucifer, the half-hellhound was ecstatic.

"Congratulations," Dean said, laughing as Bellona danced around with Gabriel.

"Thank you," Anubis replied, grinning proudly. He glanced over at Castiel, then wiggled his eyebrows at Dean, making the Nephilim laugh. "What about you?"

Dean's face flushed and he ducked his head, embarrassed.

"Oh. I'm not sure about. . . that," Dean said, face unbearably warm. Anubis winked at him.

"Sure you are. I'll talk to him for you."

Dean's squeak of _no!_ was lost by the combination of how high his voice was and the way it cracked around the panicked word.

Too late. Anubis was already moving off to talk to Castiel.

Dean hid his face and pretended not to notice the half-hellhound and angel conversing in the corner.

He avoided Castiel for the rest of the night.

Eventually, the angel caught him.

It happened when they were running. They went to the top of the mountain and stopped for a rest, and Castiel turned to Dean with a knowing look on his face.

"Let's head back down," Dean suggested, already beginning to run.

He was met with a wall of black wings.

Dean sighed, turning to find Castiel watching him, arms crossed. "We need to talk."

"I know," Dean mumbled. He followed when Castiel beckoned, going to the side of the cliff and dangling his legs off it. He found he wasn't really afraid of heights anymore. Between the flying lessons Gabriel and Castiel had been giving him and the fact that he'd faced much worse things over the past few weeks, Dean found that a big drop didn't really matter to him all that much.

"Why have you been avoiding me?" Castiel asked.

"To avoid this very conversation," Dean grumbled.

"Why?" the angel asked again.

"Because. . . I don't know. I-I. . . I've never. . ." Dean trailed off with a sigh, looking down at the churning ocean below.

"You've never known what it means to be loved," Castiel finished for him, nodding. Dean flushed so red, he was sure the tips of his ears were pink. It made the angel smile.

"Yeah, maybe. But. . . what do we do?" Dean asked.

"I'll teach you," Castiel replied.

Something brushed up against Dean's wings. It was a weird thing, to suddenly have a whole new part of his body that hadn't been there before but had somehow been there all along. Feeling things on his wings was also a strange concept.

Feathers. He was feeling feathers.

A jolt went through Dean and he pushed back with his wing, experimenting. Silvery white brushed up against black, and Castiel chuckled.

"You have the most beautiful wings," he murmured.

Dean blushed _again_. He hated acting like a twelve year old schoolgirl, but Castiel always managed to make him feel like one in the best way possible.

Hands, warm and gentle, cupped Dean's face and brought it up. He looked at the raging oceans that were Castiel's eyes and swallowed thickly.

"Your face is beautiful too," Castiel murmured, rubbing his thumbs lightly across Dean's cheekbones. "You have these freckles. Like a constellation on your skin. And your eyes remind me of sunlight through ivy leaves."

Dean ducked his head, embarrassed by the praise. Castiel stopped him by capturing his lips gently.

The kiss wasn't rough or hard or passionate. It was gentle and slow, conveying Castiel's love for Dean in a way the Nephilim never thought possible.

When they pulled away, Castiel's eyes were shining with happiness. He laughed and pulled Dean toward him, landing the Nephilim on his lap. Dean squeaked and tried to pull away, but Castiel held him tight.

"Do you trust me?" the angel asked, eyes glinting mischievously.

"Um. . . yes? What are you-oh, GOD!" Dean shouted.

Castiel rolled sideways and took them over the edge of the cliff.

Dean's wings snapped open on instinct, flaring above him as Castiel's opened too, far more gracefully. The falling pair pulled into a steep dive.

Dean almost closed his eyes as they were about to hit the water, his heart a jackhammer in his chest.

Then Castiel was pulling him gently up and they were soaring, gliding over the wind-swept waves with the sea spray in their faces.

"Don't ever do that again!" Dean shouted over the crashing and roaring of the waves. Castiel laughed, the sound lost in the noise, and flapped a little higher to gain altitude.

Dean followed, and soon they were gliding a few hundred feet over the ocean, the slowly darkening sky on the horizon turning the sea a steely gray.

Dean's wingbeats were stuttering and uncoordinated for the most part, but he stayed in the air. Castiel's were smooth and efficient. Well-practiced.

Castiel began to slow, and Dean did too, coming to a full stop. They hovered over the ocean, wings beating in time with each others'.

"You responded well to that," Castiel said, bringing Dean into a kiss. He tasted like the salt from the sea and like _Cas_ , and Dean smiled at the feeling.

"You're still an asshole," Dean said when they pulled away, though he knew there was no heat to his words. The angel chuckled and brought up a hand, rubbing his thumb on Dean's cheek. 

After a few moments of silence, the Castiel spoke.

"In angel culture, we take mates. We don't have ceremonies. We just announce our mating and consummate it at the next new moon," Castiel said, his voice soft in the wind. Dean flushed a little at the idea of what that entailed.

"I know."

"Well, you're not a full angel. You're half," Castiel said, smiling at the look on Dean's face. "The other half, the human. . . I've been reading up on their mating ceremonies. Apparently, they like to take 'husbands' and 'wives'. And they like to have ceremonies called 'weddings'."

"We wouldn't have to do that," Dean said, the blush not going away. He looked away to the horizon, but Castiel's thumb and forefinger on his chin brought him back.

"I also read," the angel continued, "about these." He pulled out a small black box. Dean's heart stuttered in his chest as the angel's fingers curled around the top and opened it. Dean stared at the silver band inside. "Dean, my mate, my Nephilim, my other half of my soul, will you marry me?"

Dean stared at the ring, then flicked his eyes up to the angel who held it.

He tackled Castiel, nearly causing him to fall out of the air in surprise. The angel laughed, the sound rising on the wind.

"Yes, Castiel Novak," Dean breathed, smiling so hard his face hurt. He pulled back and allowed Castiel to put the simple silver band on his finger. 

"I was worried," Castiel confessed, sounding relieved. "I knew human males usually got down on their knee and-"

"It's perfect," Dean interrupted. "Perfect. I. . . Not many humans can do this."

Castiel laughed, glancing around as if he'd just realized they were hovering in the air a few hundred feet above the ocean. "I don't think _any_ humans can."

"That's why it's perfect," Dean repeated. He smiled at Castiel, marveling in the way the angel's eyes seemed to glow against the backdrop of the stormy sky.

"We're going to be struck by lightning if we stay here any longer," Castiel remarked, looking up at the storm clouds.

Dean laughed. "Then I'll race you back to the Bunker."

Without another word, the Nephilim dove down and away, his mate and husband following after. They ducked and weaved around each other, racing at full speed.

And though Castiel was faster than him, he stayed by Dean's side the entire way back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And. . . that's it. :)
> 
> Okay, first of all, I love all of you. You're amazing. Everyone who commented and gave kudos and even read this story. . . thank you. You've made this a whole lot of fun. ;)
> 
> Also, thank you to Steelcode for giving me this idea. I had fun with it, and it pushed me past the usual boundaries of my writing.
> 
> Thank you for accepting my OCs, too. Anubis and Bellona were fun to write, and I appreciate how kind you were to them.
> 
> I'm working on another fic right now, so if you're waiting for more, I'll get it up soon. ;) It's an ABO fic (I like those too much) featuring-your favorite!-Omega!Dean and Alpha!Castiel. It also has the signature way-too-much fluff that comes with most of my works. ;)
> 
> I'll start posting that soon. Thank you all for an amazing journey! I love you, you're incredible! ;)
> 
> ~Faster_Than_the_Speed_of_Sound


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